Hitchhiker
by Shellie Rae
Summary: Have you ever wondered what a hunter's life looks like to an outsider? She spots a bowlegged hitchhiker and her interest is peaked. But offering rides to strangers is a dangerous idea. Monster of the week is based on Native American folklore. Set mid season 2.
1. Chapter 1

The first time she spotted him, she didn't even slow down. He was hiking along side the highway as she sped past. Short hair, faded army jacket, blue jeans, boots, and a shoulder bag. When the sound of the engine reached his ears, he stuck out a thumb without stopping or even turning his head. She chuckled "yeah right," and edged the jeep over slightly to give him a wider berth.

The second time she saw him, she was surprised at how young he was. She had stopped at a gas station to fill the tank and use the washroom. He came around the corner while she was trying to choose the least-unhealthy bagged snack. She turned her back as he went down the aisle. She felt embarrassed for some reason. Guilt?

She tried to stare at him discreetly. He was facing the other direction, looking at drinks in the refrigerator case. He couldn't be much older than 30, and that puzzled her. She noticed five o'clock shadow on his face. He grabbed a beer and a sports drink, then turned gracefully and caught her eye, smiling, as if he'd known she was looking and planned this. "Hey," he nodded at her. Crap, he was good looking. She muttered "hey" back, flustered, and turned back to the rows of snacks. He paused beside her for a moment, and she felt her face get hot. He grabbed a candy bar and walked away. She let out her breath, then scolded herself for holding her breath.

The third time she saw him, she swore under her breath. She'd wasted enough time at the gas station that he wouldn't see her get into her jeep, and maybe so she wouldn't have to pass him on the road again. Then she had picked a direction at the last fork in the road, hoping he'd taken a different one. It didn't matter, there was no mistaking his figure in the distance. She studied him as she got closer. He walked quickly. Not the leisurely pace of someone expecting to get a ride, but the deliberate march of someone who will get there either way. She found herself turning down the radio. Again he held his thumb out without slowing.

Her foot moved to the brake. She was surprised at herself. Picking up a hitchhiker was a fantastic idea if she wanted to get murdered and left in a ditch somewhere. She coasted by him, riding the brakes and arguing with herself. He looked normal enough, but kidnappers probably do. She frowned as she turned the wheel and pulled onto the shoulder of the road a few hundred feet ahead of him. She watched him in the rearview mirror and noticed he was a bit bowlegged.

He approached her jeep from the passenger side. She had already rolled down the window. She braced herself for his charming smile when he recognized her from the gas station. Instead he studied her with a cool expression. "You," was all he said.

"Where are you headed?" she asked him. Why did she have the impression that he was suspicious of her? No, that would be silly.

He kept his eyes on her, and one hand slid onto the clasp of his shoulder bag. "Arizona."

She was absolutely puzzled by him. "Well, I can take you most of the way." He made no move to open the door. "I'm going to Nevada," she offered. Why was she trying so hard to convince him? "What's your name?"

"Greg." His face was unreadable. "Greg Allman."

She couldn't help but laugh. "Right, and I'm Stevie Nicks."

His eyes softened a bit. "Alright," he decided, "let me toss this in the back," he said, shrugging the strap off his shoulder. She rolled up the window as he circled around behind the jeep.

She heard a knock on the back hatch, and turned in her seat. He was saying something and motioning. "It's unlocked," she shouted. He made a face and she could hear him rattle the latch. She hopped out to see what the problem was.

His bag was on the ground against the back tire, open. She looked at him suspiciously and he took a step back. As she reached for the door handle, she slipped her hand around the pepper spray in her jacket pocket. She pulled the handle up and the hatch swung open. At the same instant something cold hit the back of her neck. She spun around with the bottle held out at him.

His stance alarmed her. His feet were wide and his arms were out, like he was bracing himself for something. The sun caught a flash of silver in his hand.

They stood there, frozen, for a long instant. She could feel her heart pounding in her ears. Then his expression softened. "Is that… mace?"

"Yeah. Walk away or I'll use it."

He made a sound in his throat. Then she saw his face crack into a grin. His posture relaxed, and she found hers relaxing too, against her better judgement. He shook his head as he chuckled to himself.

"What?" she demanded. "What!"

He opened his hand towards her. The silver thing was not a weapon, but a flask. The lid was off.

"Did you splash that on me?" She lowered the pepper spray a few inches.

His smile was irritating. "Sorry. My bad." He fastened the lid back on.

She felt the back of her head with her free hand. Her hair was wet, and the collar of her jacket. Her face went hot again.

"Thanks anyway," he said, scooping up his bag as he walked past her. He still wore that infuriating grin.

"Where are you going?"

"I already told you, Arizona," he called over his shoulder.

"Wait!" She jogged to catch up to him. "We obviously got off on the wrong foot. The offer still stands if you want a ride. Promise I won't pepper spray you." He turned and met her eyes. "Unless you deserve it," she added.

He looked over his shoulder at the road, then back to her. "If you're sure," he said, seriously. She didn't budge. "I'll pay for gas."

She closed the back hatch as he settled into the passenger seat. He was fiddling with the radio as she climbed back in. She swatted at his hand, "nope."


	2. Chapter 2

The stranger was already getting on her nerves. He kept fidgeting and shifting in his seat, occasionally letting out a dramatic sigh. It was distracting. "What?" she finally demanded.

He made a sour face. "That rattle. Doesn't that bug the crap out of you?"

The jeep did vibrate pretty badly once she got over fifty miles an hour. "I'm kind of used to it."

"It will only get worse the longer you wait."

She rolled her eyes. "You think?" He clenched his jaw and looked away from her. Was it really bothering him that much? Weird. "I've been trying to save up to get it fixed, but something else always comes up."

"I could look at it," he said casually.

She tried to study him without taking her eyes from the road. "You're a car guy?"

"On occasion." Suddenly he perked up. "Tell you what, if you agree to take me where I'm going, I'll fix that rattle for you, no charge."

"Seriously?" She pondered it for a moment. "How long will it take to fix?"

"Maybe a day or two, depending on how bad it is. You pay for parts, I won't charge you for the work."

"So once you fix it, I drive you to Arizona?"

He nodded. "Grand Canyon."

"You're joking!" She shook her head, smiling.

The sparkle in his eyes made him seem younger. "Well? It's a good deal."

"Alright." They shook hands.

* * *

When she started to tire, he offered to take a turn at the wheel, but of course she refused. They found a cheap motel and she parked the jeep.

He grinned as he slid out of the passenger seat. "Tomorrow morning I'll pop her open and check out what's under your hood." He seemed pleased with his double entendre.

She chuckled. "Is that the best you've got?" She opened the back hatch and started to unload her things.

He walked around the back and stood very close to her. She stopped what she was doing. "Maybe I'll jack you up and get my hands in your undercarriage." He held her gaze long enough to make her blush.

Flustered, she turned away and headed towards the rental office. "Pathetic," she called over her shoulder, but she was grinning like an idiot.

"I'll go easy so we don't blow a head gasket!" he called after her.

She laughed harder. "Just give up!" She passed an old couple getting out of their car, and tried to avoid the shocked look they were giving her.

"You can lube my camshaft!" he yelled across the parking lot.

At the motel desk, she wrote "Stevie Nicks" on the form and tried not to crack a smile. The desk clerk looked it over as he handed back her change. No reaction. "Enjoy your stay, Ms Nicks," he said. "If you need anything, just hit zero on your room phone."

Finally alone in her room, she threw her bags onto the floor. She couldn't wait to get her shoes off, and she might be needing a long, cold shower. She flung herself on the bed and closed her eyes with a sigh. After a moment, she unbuttoned her pants and let out another sigh. Too long in that rattling jeep made her body stiff and sore. She unhooked her bra and pulled it out the sleeve of her shirt. Another sigh of relief. "I'll get up and shower in five minutes," she told the empty room.

The knock on the door startled her. She flailed around for a few seconds, trying to remember where she was. The clock read 7:19. Had she slept for twelve hours straight? A glance at the window confused her further; it was dark outside. Was it still the same evening she had checked in? Her head felt foggy from the interrupted sleep. Another knock, and she ran to the door and checked the peep hole.

"Greg, hi," she swung the door open.

That grin. "Stevie," he nodded. He looked her over. "You okay?"

"I fell asleep." She ran her fingers through her hair and wished she'd checked a mirror before opening the door. "What's up?"

"I'm gonna get some grub, do you want anything? There's some fast food places nearby, a couple family joints, a sports bar." He met her eyes. "You hungry?"

She stared at him blankly. Why the hell did he make her feel so… "Yeah, that, uh," get it together already, "sounds good, I could go for a bite." He smiled, and she found herself smiling back. "Just give me a second to get ready."

She assumed he would go wait by the jeep, but instead he sauntered inside and shut the door behind him. He sat down on the edge of the bed and turned his gaze on her again. No one had ever stirred up such an odd mixture of emotions in her before. She was still groggy from her little siesta, but his presence in her room just made her feel confused. "I'll just be one minute," she promised, and shut herself in the bathroom.

She brushed her teeth and splashed some water on her face. Then she glared at her reflection. Pull yourself together, stupid, she thought at herself. This guy seems decent, and that's a damn good deal on the jeep. You will not act like a moron around him.

A touch-up of mascara and some tinted lip balm and that was the best she was going to do. She pulled her shoulders back, lifted her chin, and opened the bathroom door.

He was looking out the window with his back to her. She had a second to appreciate the fit of his jeans before he turned to face her. He held out his hand, something dangling from one finger. "Forget something?" he smirked. She looked down, and all the blood rushed to her face. She snatched her bra from his finger and dove back into the bathroom.

* * *

Greg was a little less intimidating once she saw him eat. She got a little more out of him over a basket of buffalo wings and a shared pitcher of beer. Never been married, no kids. He refused to talk about his parents, but it was obvious how much he adored his little brother. He was a bit dodgy about his line of work.

"How do I know you won't screw up my jeep?" she teased.

He wagged a finger at her and put on a serious face. "Just because I never got paid for it doesn't mean I'm not a genius. I worked on cars my whole life. My dad taught me everything he knew, and the rest I taught myself."

She smiled at his obvious pride, but at the same time felt a pang of sadness at the way he referred to his father in the past tense.

That night she lay awake for a long while. The motel bed seemed pretty clean, so she was under the covers in just a t-shirt, trying to shut off her brain. She had tried not to notice how Greg entered the door to the room just beside hers. She was not going to think about how close he was on the other side of that thin wall. She definitely was not picturing that lonely, lost expression that briefly crossed his face when he forgot she was sitting across from him. Mostly, she was absolutely not going to close her eyes and imagine how easy it would be to go knock on his door and make that loneliness go away.


	3. Chapter 3

A beam of sunlight pierced through a hole in the curtain and glared in her eyes. Morning already? She groaned in frustration. Yesterday the motel clerk had mentioned free coffee. She quickly brushed her teeth, scrubbed her face, and ran a brush through her hair. Her reflection looked angry with her. "Coffee," she reminded herself. She grabbed her pants from the back of a chair and yanked them on, then her boots. She slid the room her in her pocket and headed out the door.

There was a woman behind the desk this morning. She was thin and wiry, probably in her thirties. She looked up with a smile. "Morning! If there's any other tools he needs, let me know, I have more in the shed."

She stared blankly. "Sorry?"

"You are Stevie, right? I didn't have all my tools with me when your boyfriend stopped in earlier."

She started to understand. Greg must have already started working on the jeep. "Oh, right. Stevie, I am..." She grimaced, knowing she was not making sense. "Is there coffee?"

The woman smiled bigger. "Of course, honey! Help yourself." She motioned at a counter against the far wall.

Stevie poured herself a large cup of black coffee, then added six pink sugar packets and four cups of half-n-half. "Thanks," she said as she headed out the door. "And he's not my…. um, nevermind. Thanks."

Coffee in hand, she went to her jeep and saw the pair of legs sticking out from under it. She crouched down. "Greg?"

He scooted himself out feet-first. "Hey!" he smiled. He'd been lying on a long piece of cardboard on the ground. "Morning!" He wiped his hands off with a rag as he spoke. "Good news, its not the transmission. This is gonna be an easier fix than I thought. I'll have to replace the front rotors and brake pads, but I don't see any damage to the chassis. Then I just tighten the suspension a bit, and you'll be good to go."

She nodded. "Could you say that again in English, please?"

He laughed and shook his head. "How about we grab some breakfast, then we can go pick up your parts."

* * *

She was absolutely giddy at how cheap he managed to get everything. "My uncle owns a scrap yard," he confided, after bargaining with the guy at the parts store. "I know what this stuff is really worth."

She paid for the parts and they drove back to the motel. He was already rolling up his sleeves before she had even turned off the engine.

"Need any help?" she offered as he hopped out.

He looked incredulous. "You want to help?"

"Fine then, do you want company?"

"Might be better," he said, his eyes crinkling. Then he scooted himself under the jeep and she was left to talk to his legs.

She watched the way his knees and hips moved as he worked. After a moment she shook herself. "Thanks again," she said to his feet.

"Don't mention it," his voice sounded far away. "A deal's a deal."

"Well, you saved me a lot of money. It's nice."

He didn't respond. After a moment she heard him curse. "Could you hand me the pliers?"

"The whatsit now?"

He grunted. "Never mind." He pushed himself out and sat up. His face was already smudged with grease, but he looked absolutely blissful.

"You really enjoy this, don't you?"

He looked thoughtful. "Yeah, I guess so." He grabbed the pliers and went back to work. "It's simple," his voice echoed from under the jeep. "Once you know what the problem is, the solution is obvious. Follow the same steps, every time, and it will always turn out how you want it to."

Once again she was surprised at him. The inner workings of an automobile seemed like rocket science to her. What kind of life did he lead that made fixing cars his relaxation?

"Have you ever thought about doing this full time?" she asked. No answer. "I'm sure you wouldn't get rich at it, but your career should make you happy, right? That's what my guidance counselor used to say." Greg was silent. "It's not my business, but you seem more… I don't know, content… when you're focused on this stuff."

"Wrench."

"Excuse me?"

"Hand me the wrench."

She picked up a metal thingamajig and placed it into his outstretched hand. After a second, she heard him sigh.

He hitched himself out from under the jeep again. "Wrench?" He waved the thing she had handed him, which was apparently not a wrench. He set it down and grabbed something different. "You're right," he finally continued, "it's not your business. Not everybody lucks into a line of work that makes them skip down the damn road whistling every day. Sometimes a job picks you." His eyes flashed with anger. "Alright?"

Suddenly she thought of the moment when he spilled water on her by the side of the road, and how, for just an instant, she had felt afraid of him. The way he looked at her right now made her stomach go cold. She got up and walked straight back to room, locking the door. She finished her coffee at the miniature table by the tv.

* * *

She stayed in her motel room all day. For lunch she made do with a granola bar that she dug out of the bottom of her bag, and a cup of tap water from the bathroom sink. She made a pathetic attempt at the crossword puzzle in the newspaper, and told herself she wasn't avoiding Greg, she just didn't want to distract him while he was working.

By three o'clock her stomach was growling. She had almost convinced herself to go face him when she heard a whooshing sound through the wall they shared. Running water. She peeked out the window and saw no sign of him near her jeep. He must have finished and gone in to shower.

She stopped at the vending machine to buy a few snacks, then slipped into the motel office to get another coffee. There was no one behind the desk, but a voice called from another room "be right with you!"

She poured her coffee and added everything to it. She was stirring it up when the Employees Only door swung open and she saw the man who had checked her in the night before. "Hi again," she said over her shoulder. She turned to leave and bumped right into him. It startled her so badly that she dropped her coffee down his chest. He didn't even flinch.

"Hi yourself, Stevie," he smiled, but there was nothing friendly in his face. "Would you like me to call you that? Do you like it better than your real name?"

Her heart was racing, but she tried to look calm. "Leave me alone," she said, her voice steady.

He grabbed her by the shoulders. "No need to worry, I will let you go… after you do me a favor."

She lost all pretense of calm. "Get away from me!" she shouted, and pushed back with all her strength. His disturbing smile widened as he forced her back a step. She was now pinned between him and the counter. "Stop it, no!" she shrieked. She fumbled in her pocket, searching for the pepper spray.

He grabbed her chin with one hand and pulled her mouth to his. She twisted her body and tried to turn her face away. Then he opened his mouth, and to her horror, she saw what looked like black fog coming out of his mouth. His fingers lost their grip. The coils of fog hovered in the air for a moment, then impossibly, seemed to turn and come at her.

She felt like she was watching all of it happen to someone else, and she found herself watching, transfixed. The black fog gathered around her head, then spiraled towards her mouth. She couldn't even shut her eyes to brace herself for whatever was about to happen.

Then, nothing. She heard a thump and noticed the body of the desk clerk had landed on the floor. She watched the fog coil around her face a second time, like it was running up for a charge. Then, again, nothing. She was just as stunned when the cloud of black turned and shot down into the unconscious man's mouth.

He blinked, and she could have sworn his eyes turned black for a second. She was still frozen in place. He sat up and focused on her. "How did you do that?"

She swallowed. "Do what?" It came out almost a whisper.

He got angry. "How did you keep us out!"

Suddenly she realized her feet could move again. "Sorry," she offered. Then she ran.

* * *

In the silence of her motel room, the knock on the door made her jump a foot. She checked the peephole before swinging open the door.

"Hope you like burgers," Greg said as he walked in. Then he saw something in her face and stopped in his tracks. "What's wrong?" He dropped the bags on the floor and leaned down, meeting her eyes. "You alright?"

She didn't have a clue how to begin. She shook her head. Concerned, he grabbed her shoulders, but the memory of the desk clerk's hands made her jerk away.

Greg held his hands up in surrender. "What happened." He wasn't asking so much as insisting she tell him everything.

She shook her head again. She was still trying to process everything, how on earth could she explain it? "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

He didn't even blink. "Try me."


	4. Chapter 4

To her amazement, he did not think she was on drugs or out of her mind. He seemed strangely unfazed by the whole thing. She had paced back and forth the entire time she was telling him her story. He perched on the edge of the bed and simply listened.

When she finally finished, he stood up. "Wait here," he said, and was out the door before she could react. She heard the door to his room open and shut twice. She watched his silhouette go past her window. He was going to the motel office.

That got her moving. What the hell did he think he was going to do?

She caught up to him just as he burst into the little office. At the sight of the man behind the desk, she found her feet stuck in place again. Greg looked to her. "Is this the guy?" She nodded. "Get out of here. I'll handle this."

"No way." She stayed put.

"You don't want to be here for this." Greg reached over the desk with one arm and hauled the man up roughly by his shirt. "Did your boss send you after me? Here I am. What's your move?"

"Hey man, come on," the clerk pleaded. "Take what you want, don't hurt me."

"What are you doing?" she cried out.

Greg looked at her. "You should leave." He pulled his flask out of a pocket. "Last chance." She wasn't quite sure who he meant that for.

"Miss?" the clerk's voice shook. "Please, there's cash in the drawer, just take it."

Greg emptied the flask over the clerk's head and shoved him back into his chair.

"What the hell?" the man shrieked. His hair and shirt dripped.

All three of them stared at each other in bewilderment.

Greg scowled. "Son of a bitch."

* * *

Back in her motel room, Greg was now the one pacing the floor.

She sat on the bed, studying him. "You know about this stuff?" she finally ventured. "Explain it to me."

He wouldn't look at her. "You're better off not knowing."

"Bull. I know there's a hell of a lot I don't understand. I feel like I'm losing my marbles here. Please."

He stopped his pacing and walked over to the window. "We should get out of here." After a long moment he scooped up the paper bags and carried them to the small table. "Let's eat first, and we can talk on the road."

* * *

Secretly she was glad he had insisted on driving. She wasn't sure she was ready for what he was about to unload on her. "Start talking," she said as they pulled out of the motel parking lot.

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything!" She thought for a moment. "That guy who attacked me, what was wrong with him?"

Greg took a deep breath. "He wasn't himself. He was being controlled."

"Controlled? Like hypnosis?"

"No, not…" he scratched the back of his head. "My brother is much better at explaining." He gave her a pained look. "No, this guy was ...possessed."

Her eyes widened. "Possessed? No way. You don't mean demon possessed? I'm not insane, you are."

"Got a better explanation?"

"Not yet." She watched him. He looked pretty sure of himself for a nutjob. "Alright, let's just say that's true. Why did you throw your drink on him?"

"That was holy water. If someone is possessed, it burns their skin."

She laughed. "Holy water. Of course." He shot her a look. "Sorry. You know how this sounds, right?" She looked amused. "What were you going to do? Perform an exorcism? Like a priest?"

"Do I look like a priest?" He seemed offended. "Anyway yeah, that was the plan."

She studied him. "So what are you, a demon slayer?"

"What?"

"A slayer, like Buffy."

"Excuse me?"

"Never mind." They rode in silence for a few minutes. "Wait, is this your job?" She lowered her voice to a teasing whisper, "are you Constantine?"

"What the hell. No!"

Her expression slowly turned serious. "You said sometimes a job picks you." She was afraid to ask, but she had to. "What happened?"

He tightened his jaw, and for a moment, she thought he wouldn't answer. "My mom, when I was a kid. Then my dad, a few months ago."

"I'm sorry. I can't imagine." She looked out the window. "Your brother, he does this too?"

"Yeah."

"Do you two get along?"

"It depends." He frowned. "Long story."

She looked out the window, questions spinning in her mind. She was about to open her mouth when a ringing sound interrupted. She reached in her jacket pocket and checked her mobile. "Not me," she said, and put it back.

He shifted in his seat and slid a hand into his pants pocket, pulling out his own mobile. He flipped it open. "Dean," he answered, then listened. "No, I'm a little past La Junta." He pulled a face. "A what?" He looked at her and made motions of writing. She opened the glove compartment and found some scrap paper and a pen. "Black Forest," he paused as she wrote it down, "Stagecoach Motel." He nodded. "Sure thing, Bobby. I owe you." He hung up.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"There's a job, just outside Colorado Springs. We're meeting up with a local guy." He glanced at her and his posture softened. "Um, I hope that's alright." Was he actually embarrassed?

"Did you forget whose ride this is?" she teased.

He knit his brows together. "It's just a quick detour, promise. How about I cover everything until we get back on course?"

She smiled. "Don't worry about it. I'm in no hurry" He relaxed a little. "Besides, I'm going to have a lot more questions for you."

He tried to look sullen, but the corners of his eyes crinkled up. "It shouldn't take long. This guy just wanted some backup."

"Wait, is this another demon thing?"

"Something like that."

"This is nuts." She closed her eyes. Then she remembered something that made her chuckle. "Dean."

He looked at her, stunned, until he realized his slip-up. "Damn."

"Not so smooth after all, Greg," she laughed. At that instant, she made a decision. "My name's Tiffany."

A slight smile pulled at his mouth. He stuck his hand towards her. "Good to meet you, Tiffany," he said.

She extended her hand, and his larger fingers closed around it. "Likewise, Dean." They shook on it.


	5. Chapter 5

It was dark when arrived at the Stagecoach Motel. He paid for two rooms, despite her protests. He had made up his mind that he would pay for her expenses during this little side trip, and there was no convincing him.

She finished unpacking first and headed next door to Dean's room. Her mind was swimming with all this new information, but she still wanted to know more. She knocked on his door. Maybe he would let her tag along on this job.

Tiffany was not prepared for the sight that met her eyes. He was wearing a suit and tie. "Wow, Greg! I mean..." she was flustered. "Dean. You look… snazzy."

He seemed delighted at her reaction. "I do clean up nice," he said playfully.

"I would go with you, but I haven't got a thing to wear!" Stop flirting with him, she scolded herself.

"That doesn't sound like a problem to me," he teased. Then his gaze slipped over her shoulder. She turned to look.

A stocky man was walking across the parking lot towards them. He carried a garment bag over one shoulder. "You must be Dean," he said as he approached. The arm holes of his shirt were frayed, like he had ripped off the sleeves. His hair was wavy and looked red in the light of the motel sign.

Dean raised his chin. "And you're Jason." They shook hands, and she nearly giggled at how obviously they were sizing each other up.

The new guy turned his gaze at her. "Who is this?" he raised an eyebrow, "she with you?" He wasn't bad looking, but compared to the Sharp Dressed Man beside her, there was no contest.

Dean put one hand on her lower back. "Carly, this is Jason Hudson. Jason, this is Carly Simon."

"Carly," Jason said. "Pretty name. It fits you."

She wondered if he would notice if she kicked Dean in the shin. "Thanks," she smiled politely.

"Is that your monkey suit?" Dean interrupted.

Jason swung the garment bag off his shoulder. "You bet. Where can I change?"

Dean swept his arm towards the door. He grimaced once the man was out of sight. "At least I get to be the tall one for a change," he muttered.

"Can I talk to you for a second?" she asked as soon as the door shut.

"Sure thing." He turned gave her his full attention, hands on his hips. "What's up?"

It made her inexplicably shy. "I guess... I just wondered what to expect. I feel completely out of the loop."

He nodded. "This is a pretty routine job, as they go. You hang out here, and we'll go do what we do. He'll drop me back after we take care of things. It could take a while, so don't wait up." He put a hand on her arm. "Don't worry, got it? You and me will be out of here tomorrow."

Why on earth did she trust this guy so much? She hadn't decided if he was completely delusional or not. Still, the way he was looking at her so earnestly, she felt like she could put her life in his hands.

Jason opened the door, now wearing his own suit and tie. It was an improvement. He held his hands out and turned side to side. "Well?" She laughed and gave him a thumbs up.

As the two men started for the car, she reached out for Dean. "Wait," she caught him by the sleeve of his suit coat. "Good luck."

* * *

After Jason's sedan drove away, Tiffany sat down and tried to ponder the last couple days. The television was on, but she didn't see a thing in front of her eyes. She remembered a conversation in the jeep a few hours earlier.

"If demons are real, then other stuff must be too, right?

He looked sideways at her. "You don't want to know."

"Shut up. I really do."

He sighed. "Fine."

"Ghosts?"

"Yes."

"Wow," she chewed her lip. "Aliens."

"No."

"Werewolves?"

He grinned. "Oh yeah."

She rolled her eyes. "Bigfoot?"

"Not sure, actually."

"Weird. Ugh, tell me not vampires!"

He chuckled. "Yep."

"Damn." She strained to think of more. "Ooh, angels, right?"

"Nope."

"What? Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. I've never seen one. Nobody has."

"That's not true. I know lots of people who have seen one."

He looked annoyed. "Who? Your great aunt's next door neighbor's long lost cousin's dog walker?"

She crossed her arms. "That's stupid. There can't be demons without angels too. It's not fair!" Was she really having this argument? Maybe they were both crazy. Oh well.

"What about mermaids?"

* * *

Tiffany jolted awake. The television was still on, she had dozed off in the armchair. Her heart thudded. What had woken her? She held her breath and listened hard.

Nothing.

The clock read 2:43. Were the boys finished with the job? She peeked out a window and saw Jason's car. Empty. Her stomach knotted.

She ran next door and knocked. Please be fine, she prayed. She knocked harder. No answer. She tried the door handle. It turned and clicked open, which only made her feel worse.

The lights were on, but the room was empty. "Dean, are you here?"

"Stevie?" came a muffled voice.

"Yeah it's me," she called back. She found the bathroom door, and discovered it to be unlocked as well. "Dean?" She pushed the door open.

God, so much blood. Little rivers on the tile floor, smudged red handprints on the bowl of the sink, dark splotches on his white dress shirt. She couldn't see his face. He was seated on the edge of the tub, his back to her. She felt trapped in the doorway, afraid to step into the room and become part of this, but unable to leave, either.

He turned to look at her. "Turns out it wasn't routine." He offered a pathetic smile.

She went to his side, trying to avoid stepping in anything. "Apparently." With a shaky hand, she reached out and touched his chest. "You're hurt."

He closed his eyes and nodded. Turning his body, he pulled up the back of his shirt. She caught a glimpse of a nasty looking gash down the left side of his back.

She grit her teeth, willing herself not to get sick. "That looks bad."

He let his shirt drop. "You should see the other guy." He didn't even attempt to smile this time.

"I'm serious. Let me take you to a hospital. You've lost a lot of blood."

"No." His shoulders slumped. "It's not all mine."

"Jason?" she heard herself ask.

Dean shook his head.

Without thinking, she reached out and stroked his face. The fear seemed to drain away. "Tell me what I can do," she urged.

His eyes found hers. "Do you know how to sew?"

* * *

Act natural. She walked through the aisles of the convenience store quickly, but not so quickly as to call attention to herself. Thank God for twenty-four hour shopping. She mentally ran through the list of supplies Dean had asked for. Gauze bandages, tape, a sewing kit, rubbing alcohol, pain medicine, antibiotic ointment, fishing line, and something strong to drink. She had left him in the bathroom, cleaning himself up.

"What if they don't have fishing line?" she had asked.

"Dental floss," he told her.

She paid for her odd assortment and made her way back as quickly as she dared.

* * *

He came out of the bathroom as she was setting out her supplies. His hair was damp, and he was dressed only in boxer briefs. His skin looked a tad gray.

Tiffany forced a pleasant look onto her face. "I got everything, even the fishing line."

He grabbed a pair of small glass cups from the counter. "Open the whiskey." He poured some rubbing alcohol into one glass, took a needle from the sewing kit, and dropped it in. Then he opened the bottle of pain meds and poured some into his hand.

"Now what?" she coaxed.

He held out the empty glass, and she poured for him. He tossed the pills into his mouth and gulped it all down. He took the bottle and refilled the glass. "Bottoms up," he said, handing her the glass.

"What?" she didn't budge.

"I don't want your hands shaking while you work on me. Drink."

She took a sip as Dean crawled onto the bed and gingerly lay down. She turned the lamp around so it was aimed right at … the ragged, gaping wound. On second thought, she chugged the rest of her drink. Her throat burned.

"Good girl," he muttered, at the sound of the empty glass hitting the table.

She cut a length of fishing wire and threaded it through the needle. Taking a deep breath, she crouched down over him on the bed.

"Peroxide," he reminded her.

"Damn." She grabbed the bottle. "This might sting a little." She poured some into the raw cut. He hissed in pain. "Sorry," she cringed. His breathing was unsteady. After a moment she blotted the area dry with a towel. He made a sound, but it was muffled in the blankets. "What's that?"

He lifted his head. "Again. I can't risk an infection."

Reluctantly, she did it. His back muscles spasmed as he cursed and swore into the blankets. She smoothed her hands over the undamaged parts of his skin and murmured comforts to him until he stilled.

Before he could demand more torture, she picked up her needle and made herself comfortable against him. She tilted her head to one side, then the other, trying to figure out how to begin. It's a shirt, she told herself. A ripped shirt. Fix it.

So she did.

He was a very good patient. Not that she had anyone to compare. When she sat back and looked at her finished work, she was strangely pleased. She coated the stitches with ointment, and taped a bandage over everything.

Dean opened his eyes. "Not half bad, doc." His smile was almost genuine once again. He started to push himself up.

She put out a hand to stop him, and was surprised to find she actually could. "Where do you think you're going?"

"We need to go." His words were slurred.

Stubborn idiot. Maybe if she stalled, he would pass out. "Fine, I'll pack the jeep. You stay put."

He lay back down on his stomach. "Fine." His eyes closed.

Tiffany put all her surgeon supplies back in the shopping bag and tied it shut. She grabbed the plastic liner from a trash can to gather the blood-soaked clothes off the bathroom floor. Paint, she told herself. Ketchup. Cranberry…. sauce… oh God. She dove for the toilet just in time.

Next she found Dean's bag and dug out a complete outfit for him. She carried everything else to the jeep. She shoved the bag of clothes under the rear seat and tossed some other things over to hide it. Probably wouldn't go well for some nosy passerby to catch a glimpse of that.


	6. Chapter 6

When she got back to the room, Dean was snoring. She had never felt so relieved. The adrenaline was leaving her body and she suddenly felt very tired. No way she was fit to drive. Locking his door behind her, she slipped back to her own room to shower.

The scalding water did wonders for her nerves, and she stayed in longer than she planned to.

The sun was coming up when she got out of the bathroom. Pinkish-gray light shone through the window above the little kitchenette. She quickly blow-dried her hair and got dressed. Just as she finished brushing her teeth, she was surprised by the knock on the door.

She was going to scold him for being up and around, but it was not Dean outside her door.

"Good morning," the policewoman said.

Tiffany's blood went cold. "Morning," she tried to smile.

"Hope I didn't wake you. There was an incident last night that may be connected to this motel. I'd like to ask you a few questions." She was no taller than Tiffany, but she had an intimidating presence.

"Sure, what's going on?" Keep it together, girl.

"Have you noticed anyone or anything suspicious since you arrived here?"

"I don't think so. Nothing stands out." Except for that bloody mess next door.

The officer pointed to Jason's sedan. "Did you see who drove that car?"

"Sorry, I got in pretty late." He's dead. A monster ate him.

"Are you traveling with someone?"

"No. Why?"

The woman looked at her gently. "You're young to be out on your own."

"I can take care of myself."

"Glad to hear it. If you head out today, be careful."

"Right, of course. Thanks."

Tiffany shut the door and watched out the peep hole until the officer walked away. She grabbed the motel phone and dialed Dean's room. With each ring she felt a the panic grow. "Answer, damn it!"

She slammed the phone down and paced the room. What the hell was she supposed to do now? From the window she could see the patrol car parked near the motel office. She longed to go knock on Dean's door, but that too risky.

If she only knew more. If she could find out what happened last night, or how much the police figured out, maybe she could get a better grip on the situation.

Tiffany slipped the room key in her pocket and marched to the motel office.

The police officer and the motel clerk looked at her as the bell on the door chimed. "Hi again," she waved to the cop. She approached the young man behind the desk.. "Can you tell me where I can find some coffee?"

"I have a pot brewing in the back," he said.

"Oh, that would be fantastic," Tiffany gave him her best smile.

"I'll have one too, Keith," the officer said.

He left, and Tiffany started to speak, but the officer questioned her first. "Did you get a look at any of the other guests?"

She was caught off guard. "No, why?"

"Just covering all bases." The radio on her hip let out a beep, and she picked it up. "Seventeen, go ahead." Unintelligible chatter filled the room. The officer listened for a moment. "Copy. Confirm ten-twenty-nine-victor. Possible ten-eighty-five, will advise. Over."

Tiffany took a deep breath. "So what's going on out there?"

"It's privileged information at this point."

She nodded. "Right, of course."

The boy returned with their coffees. The policewoman smiled warmly at him. "Thanks Keith," she said sweetly.

* * *

She sat in her jeep, completely out of ideas, and sipped her coffee. Was that cop on to her? Smooth, Tiff, very smooth. She needed to get Dean and leave town before she could screw things up worse.

A second patrol car had just pulled in the parking lot. Tiffany watched in horror as the motel clerk led both police officers toward Dean's room, keys in hand. He unlocked the door for them, and stepped back out of the way. The cops drew their guns and took a stance on either side of the door.

Her insides felt like ice. "Please God," she whispered to the empty jeep. "If you can hear me, protect him, God. Don't let them find him. Please." The cops slammed the motel door open. Even from across the parking lot, the noise made her jump in her seat. "Please, God." She waited. Her mouth had gone dry.

The female officer appeared in the doorway. The motel clerk asked her a question Tiffany couldn't hear, and the officer shook her head no.

After a minute, the second officer exited the room, talking on his radio.

Tiffany let out the breath she had been holding. No sign of Dean anywhere. She was so relieved she felt light headed.

Now she had to figure out her next move.

* * *

She waited in the jeep as long as possible. Her relief was slowly turning into anxiety. If Dean wasn't in his room, where the hell was he? She couldn't just sit on her ass and hope everything would magically fix itself. A growl from her stomach finally forced her to make a decision.

A quick trip to the drive-thru improved her mood greatly. It wasn't the healthiest option, but she was uncomfortable being away too long.

She was disappointed to see that both patrol cars were still in the motel parking lot. Now the door to Dean's room was roped off with yellow caution tape. Tiffany walked briskly, her breakfast leftovers in hand. She almost had her key in the lock when a voice stopped her.

"Sorry to bother you again miss," it was the policewoman again. "I just have a few more questions." Her words were polite but there was something stony underneath.

"What is it?"

The officer motioned to Dean's open door. "Did you have any contact with the man who rented this room?"

Tiffany bit the inside of her cheek. What did this lady know? "I don't really remember. Can I go?"

"According to the motel log, you and he checked in at the same time."

Crap. "I don't know, I was really tired when I got in. Am I free to go? I'd like to finish my food before it gets cold."

The officer's face was unreadable. "Let me know you something," she said, turned, walked away. Tiffany was thrown by this, but she followed. The woman stopped by Jason's car. "Look inside."

Tiffany peeked in. She couldn't help the sharp intake of air that hissed through her lips when she realized what she was seeing. The steering wheel and the inside of the door were smeared with reddish-brown handprints. The entire driver's seat was coated in thick dried blood, which had collected in a puddle on the lower cushion. She felt her breakfast trying to come up, and turned away the car, breathing hard.

The officer had been studying her. "The owner of this car was found dead early this morning. He was beaten, stabbed, and left in the woods. It appears his attacker came here after fleeing the scene. Anything you can remember might help."

Tiffany couldn't think straight. She closed her eyes and tried to keep her food down. "Sorry," she put a hand to her mouth. "I think I'm gonna…" The woman nodded, and TIffany turned and ran. She unlocked the door and barely made it to the toilet. Her stomach heaved, and tears streamed down her face.

After, she kneeled on the bathroom floor, gasping and sobbing. Did she have this whole situation wrong? Had she been naive enough to trust a murderer? How could she misjudge someone so badly?

"Miss, you doing alright?" The officer's voice was not at all muffled. Tiffany hadn't closed the door.

"Yes," she hollered. "I'll be right there."

She pulled herself up to the sink and turned the cold water on full blast. She rinsed out her mouth and splashed water on her face and neck.

What did she know? Jason and Dean went out on a job. They had never met before last night, Dean only came here as a favor to a friend. No way Dean was responsible for Jason's death. She remembered the defeated look in his eyes as he told her the news.

Meanwhile, that cop was on to her. Why else show her Jason's car? TIffany had to give her something. Mom had always said that the very best lies contain just enough truth to make them easy to swallow.

She could do this. Her reflection looked a little bedraggled, but confident. She turned the corner out of the bathroom, ready to tell her own version of events. The door stood open a few inches. She could see the police officer waiting just outside the door in the sunlight. Then inside, a movement from the shadows caught her eye. A person was standing in the dark corner behind the door. Dean.

She kept her pace toward the door. If she stopped now, the officer would be even more suspicious. Tiffany had a million questions for him, but she had things to do first.

She took a deep breath and swung the door open wide. "Sorry about that. I don't have the stomach for things like..." Something brushed against her hand as she held on to the doorknob. Cool fingers were touching hers.

"It happens," the officer was nodding. "Now, what do you remember?" She had a bulky metal clipboard in one arm, ready.

Tiffany wrinkled her brow in concentration. Behind the door, Dean rested his hand over hers in… solidarity? Comfort? Poorly-timed flirting? "Well, I did see the guy who drove that car. He had another guy with him. I remember they were both in suits, like businessmen or something."

The woman was furiously taking notes. "Were they fighting or agitated when you saw them?"

"No..." Tiffany paused, and the officer stopped writing and squinted at her. "They… um, they both hit on me."

"You spoke with them!" Her eyes shot open in surprise.

Tiffany smiled her embarrassment, and shrugged. "A little. They seemed nice."

"Did they give their names?"

"The guy with the car said his name was Jason." The officer nodded. "And the other guy was Greg."

"What about last names?"

She scrunched up her face. "Uh…. Henderson, maybe? I'm not sure."

"Did either of them give you a phone number, email, any type of contact information?"

"Nope." She was surprised at how much of her story wasn't actually lies.

"Can you recall anything else they said?"

"Just that they had to go to work."

"Did they give any indication where or what kind of work?"

"No, sorry."

The officer pulled another sheet from inside her clipboard. "Alright, let's go back for a minute. I'd like you to describe this second man, Greg. Age, height, weight, skin, hair, tattoos or scars, anything you can remember."

Dean's hand slid off hers. She took a deep breath and let it out. "I'd guess he was in his thirties, kind of tall. Short hair. Wearing a suit."

"How tall exactly?"

"Taller than me."

The woman barely glanced up as she continued scrawling. "What color hair?"

"Brown."

"Any other distinguishing marks?"

Tiffany bit her lip and tried to look deep in thought. "Nothing stands out." Except his dimples.

The officer gave her a satisfied nod. "Thank you, this will be extremely helpful."


	7. Chapter 7

Tiffany locked the door and turned on Dean, prepared to rip him a new one. He was on the floor, slouched against the wall with his long legs splayed out in front of him. He looked downright pathetic. She crouched in front of him. "I don't know whether to hug you or hit you."

He managed a smirk. "How about both."

"Save it. Can you stand up?"

"Yeah," said, pulling his legs up and planting his feet on the floor.

She held out her hands. "Ready?" He wrapped his hands around her forearms and she copied him. "On three." She stuck her hips back for leverage. "One, two," and on "three" both of them pulled, groaning from the effort. As soon as he was upright, she slipped under his arm to steady him. "Come on, you big baby," she teased.

"Hey now." He let her help him to the bed, where he slumped down onto the mattress and shut his eyes.

Tiffany found herself going into doctor mode. It had been seven hours since she'd stitched him up. He was due for a new bandage and more painkillers. She clambered up beside him on the bed and pulled up the left side of his shirt.

He made a half-hearted attempt to swat her away. "Not that I wouldn't love to…" he murmured.

"Shush, I'm checking your stitches." She gingerly pulled up the tape on one side and rolled back the bandage. "Not bad," she said. The wound was a clean pink color, not a hint of infection. "I did a pretty good job." All her supplies were in the jeep, so for now she smoothed the tape back down and lowered his shirt.

She left him lying there and gazed out the front window. She needed to focus, to come up with a decent plan. Her mother's voice came to mind: cool clear water; cool clear mind. Tiffany went to find a glass.

As she turned on the tap, a light breeze tickled the back of her neck. The window above the kitchenette was open, but she hadn't opened it. Is this how Dean had gotten in? The bottom of the windowsill was four feet off the ground. It didn't seem possible, given his current state.

Tiffany took a long drink of water. She pulled her long-sleeved shirt off over her head, leaving just her cami undershirt. Her head felt clearer already. She dragged the square aluminum table across the floor, positioning it under the window, then hauled herself up onto it and carefully stood. There were no other buildings in view. Several yards away, a thin row of pine trees formed a border, and beyond that she could just make out a gravel service road. Directly below the window was a seven foot drop to an overgrown patch of weeds.

She hopped down and marched over to Dean. "How the hell did you pull that off?" He opened his eyes. "The window, hello! How did you get up the outside wall, open the window, and climb into my room? In your condition!"

Dean sat up. "I don't remember."

"How is that possible?" She eyeballed him.

His forehead wrinkled as he concentrated. "I was in my room, next door. I must have fallen asleep after you fixed me up. Next thing I know..." he motioned at the spot behind the door where she had found him. "I was here."

They stared at one another, troubled. She was the first to look away. "Thirsty?" she offered. She filled second glass for him and sat across from him with her own.

He gulped down half the water. "What's our status on the cops?" He seemed refreshed.

"They have your room taped off. I don't think they're leaving anytime soon."

He finished off his glass. "How long til they make you?"

"Make me what?"

He looked annoyed. "How long until they figure out that you lied?"

"Oh. Not sure. More water?" She took his glass to refill it.

"What is that?" Dean asked, when her back was turned. "You have a tattoo?" He sounded a tad impressed.

She felt her cheeks flush. She had forgotten about it. She handed him the glass, then turned around, pulling her hair over one shoulder to give him a better look.

He leaned in close. Just below her shoulder blade was a garishly colored design. The black outline of a bird, maybe an eagle or hawk, lay over a circle of yellow and red stripes with an aqua-blue center. Scripted words formed a ring around it. He pushed her cami strap aside to examine the writing.

Tiffany could feel his breath on her shoulder. "It's ugly, isn't it?"

"No," he said, sitting back. "I've never seen anything like that. What does it mean?"

"I haven't the foggiest idea." She sat on the other bed, facing him. "I was drunk. I don't remember a bit of it."

Dean shook his head, amused. "If I had a dollar for every time I pulled some drunken stunt..."

She found herself grinning, waiting for more, but his expression turned serious.

He chewed on his lower lip thoughtfully. "You know, if I came in through that window; bet you I can get out the same way."

* * *

She had to boost him up on the flimsy table, which was a feat in itself. "Should I go around and try to catch you?"

"No, I need you to lock the window after I'm out. They'll check the room once you leave. Don't give them any more reason to be suspicious." He got his head and shoulders through, then slid his chest up and over the windowsill.

Watching him dangle there, Tiffany held in a laugh. She let herself admire the way he filled out those jeans. It had been a rough day, she could at least enjoy this.

"I have to go head first," he decided.

"What? No, bad idea."

"The window doesn't open any higher. If I land right, the weeds should be enough cushion."

"You are insane." He didn't back down. "You're going to pull a stitch."

"Probably. Here goes." With that, his legs slid through the window. She hurried to peer out the window. Dean lay on his back a few yards away, grass and leaves strewn over his clothing.

"Are you still alive?" she called in a loud whisper.

The reply was his middle finger pointed in the air.

* * *

She walked briskly to her jeep, trying to keep a cool exterior. She hopped in and put her sunglasses on. Her best buddy policewoman was coming out of the motel office. Tiffany started the engine, as the officer came her direction. She put the jeep in drive and eased out of her parking spot. As she rolled by, the officer raised an arm to flag her down. Tiffany smiled and waved in return.

She watched the motel shrink in her rearview mirror. She drove for several miles, until she was certain the cops weren't going to come after her. Then she doubled back and circled around, ending up on the gravel road that ran behind the motel.

Dean appeared from the row of pine trees and swiftly joined her. "Anyone try to follow?"

"Nope, all clear."

He gave her a nod. "Let's get the hell out of here."

Not a moment too soon she spotted a sign that read Now Leaving Black Forest, and pointed it out to Dean.

"We're not out of the woods yet," he told her. His face broke into a grin. "Forest? Heh..."

"Dork," she chuckled, relieved to see him cracking jokes again.

"Seriously though, we're not stopping until we cross the state line. Jurisdiction and all that." He unbuttoned his flannel shirt and pulled it off, leaving just a t-shirt underneath. They rode in silence for a while.

Tiffany took a deep breath. "Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot."

"What happened out there? I mean, the thing that got Jason, what was it?"

Dean turned away to look out the window, so it surprised her when he spoke. "Oniijaani," he began. "It's a kind of spirit animal. Not exactly common, but it was supposed to be a simple, in and out job." He scowled. "I tried to carry him out of there after it went south, but the thing came at us from behind, knocked the wind out of me." He had that menacing look again. "I ended that bitch, but Jason was long gone."

She put a hand on his arm, trying to bring him out of his thoughts. She almost regretted asking, but somehow she felt better knowing. His expression finally softened and he turned to look out the window.

It wasn't long before they reached the interstate. "Finally," she said. She glanced over at Dean. He was asleep, probably for the best. It was another hour until she spotted that beautiful blue Welcome to Kansas sign.

At the first trace of civilization, she got off the interstate and pulled into a McDonalds parking lot. Dean was still out cold. Tiffany whispered "sorry" as she left him to run inside. She had never been so happy to see a clean bathroom.

She returned with a stack of sandwiches and two drinks. "I brought food," she said, climbing back into the jeep. Dean's phone was ringing. "You gonna get that?" He didn't budge, so she slipped the phone from his pocket and checked the called ID. It showed the letter B, nothing else. She hesitated before answering. "Uh, Dean's phone." Click. "Hello?" She frowned.

She slapped Dean on the knee. "Wake up, lazy bones." She turned and patted his cheek. "Come on, wakey-wakey." He felt warm. She pressed the back of her hand to his forehead; he was definitely feverish. "No, don't you dare," she told him.

There was a cheap looking motel a few blocks away. She decided to get a single room with two beds so she could keep an eye on him. He still hadn't moved when she came out with the key.

She opened the passenger door. "We're here, come on." She stepped up on the side board and grabbed him by the shoulders. "Dean, please." She slapped his face. "Wake. Up." She felt anxiety building in her chest. She needed to get him inside and cool him down. She hooked her arms under his and tried to lift him, but he was deadweight.

Tiffany ran back to the motel office and gave her best smile to the short man at the desk. "Sorry, my boyfriend had a little too much to drink, could you help me out?" Between the two of them, they managed to get Dean's limp form out of the jeep, into the room, and onto a bed.

She gave the man a tip for his trouble and locked the door. Then she crawled up on the bed next to Dean. "You were fine this morning," she said, rolling him to his stomach, "what the hell happened?" She pulled up his shirt and peeled back the tape and bandages.

"Oh my God." Half his back was covered in a vein-like pattern of brown lines. They seemed to spread outward from his injury. This wasn't any kind of infection, the wound itself looked healthy. She pressed a finger to one of the brown lines. Dean let out a grunt of pain in his sleep.

Tiffany slid down off the bed and landed on the floor. "Oh God," she said again. She put her head in her hands. For the first time in her life, she had no idea what to do. She felt absolutely useless. "I need help," she whispered to the empty room.

A phone rang. She dug frantically through the pile inside the door until she found Dean's jacket. She flipped it open. "Don't hang up," she cried.


	8. Chapter 8

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to everyone who has left reviews or sent PMs. I love feedback! For those who were curious, the Oniijaani is based on actual folklore. All will be revealed soon. What you'll see later in this chapter is a real language, I did not make it up. I'm sure the translation is not perfect, but I did my best. Enjoy!

* * *

"You've got my attention," a man's voice came across the phone.

"Is this Bobby?"

"Who is this?" He was suspicious.

"Carly," she lied. "Dean is with me."

"Put him on the phone."

"I can't… he's not..."

"Quit dickin' around and say what you want!"

This wasn't going well. She tried to focus. "Jason's dead."

"Godammit. What happened, is Dean alright?"

"The job at Black Forest, it went wrong. I stitched him up but something's wrong. He has a fever and I can't get him to wake up. Where the thing cut him ...it looks awful. I don't know what to do."

"Oh," he actually sounded relieved. "Alright, try and calm down. It sounds like an infection."

"No! It's not an infection! This is something ...not normal."

Bobby sighed. "Tell me what we're looking at."

She described it as best she could, then waited. The line was silent. "Bobby?"

"Yep, hang on." She heard muffled voices. "Carly, are you in a secure location?"

"I think so. We left Colorado, the cops didn't follow us."

"Where are you?"

She found some stationery with the motel address. "Goodland, Kansas."

"Hmm…. I'm at least six or seven hours from you."

"Tell me what to do." Staying busy would keep her from freaking out.

"Just sit tight for now. Keep this cell on you. I'll ring you back once I have some answers."

* * *

Tiffany put cold towels over Dean's body, then sat on the other bed eating stale sandwiches. She tried to ignore all the what-ifs crowding her mind.

Part of her wanted to run. She didn't really know this guy, why did it matter so much? Hell, less than a week ago they were strangers. She owed him nothing. The smart thing to do would be walk out the door, drive away, and never look back.

Instead, she emptied her suitcase and sorted the dirty clothes from the clean ones. She tried to rouse Dean to drink some water, but most of it spilled down his chin. She took a long shower, plucked her eyebrows, carefully applied makeup, and painted her toenails. Every time she glanced at the clock, not nearly enough time had passed.

Occasionally Dean would talk in his sleep, probably the fever upsetting his dreams. Twice he called out for a "Sammy," and once she thought he said "Baby."

Later, she stepped outside to watch the sunset. As the sky began to darken, she closed her eyes and tried to breathe in the stillness. She wanted to call her mother, but she was too stubborn.

Bobby called just after midnight. "How is he? Any change?"

"It's spreading."

"Well, the good news is we dug up a ritual to get rid of this Oniijaani spirit. I've got somebody picking up supplies as we speak."

"Good," Tiffany sighed. "Wait, is there bad news?"

She heard him chuckle. "You bet. This ritual is Algonquian. For it to work, it has to be performed by someone of that bloodline."

"Okay... I'll do it."

"Did you not hear what I said?"

Tiffany smiled. "I'm one-eighth Chippewa on my mother's side. Is that enough?"

"Butter my butt and call me a biscuit."

She burst out laughing. "I'll take that as a yes."

"Abso-friggin-lutely," he said. "Tell me where you're staying." She read him the address. "Got it. Dean's brother will be coming to help; he's a good kid. You can expect him mid-morning tomorrow. He'll have everything you need."

She closed her eyes, letting the relief wash over her. "Thank you."

"Now try to get some shut eye, and call me if you need anything."

* * *

The sun was already up when she opened her eyes. Her dreams had been dark and menacing. _Running through deep woods, black coils of fog in pursuit, the shriek of a hawk echoing through the trees._ Her head felt clouded.

A glance out the window showed no sign of any visitors. She checked Dean's mobile; there were no missed calls. She hurriedly used the toilet and brushed her teeth, then checked the window again.

Apprehension started to creep in. She climbed up next to Dean and pulled the damp towels off his body. His skin was hot, and he made a pained noise in his throat at her touch.

She dashed over to the gas mart to grab a coffee. The phone rang on her way back. "Hi Bobby," she answered.

He didn't waste any time. "Is Sam there yet?"

"No..."

"Don't start the ritual."

"How come?"

"This thing isn't a spirit like we thought. Explains how she got the jump on them at Black Forest. I need to give it another look."

Her stomach knotted up. "What if… what could have happened?"

"This thing could do some serious damage to any medium trying to pull it out. That means you, sweetheart."

Her mouth went dry. "I don't know how long Dean can wait."

"Carly, you hold off until you get the go-ahead from me. Are we clear?"

"Yes, of course."

* * *

She sat beside Dean, dabbing sweat off his forehead with a towel. "Stay with me, you big dork." It felt good to speak aloud. "You know, this has been the most bizarre, terrifying week of my entire life, but…" Tiffany caught herself smiling "...I'm glad I met you. You do important work, Dean, you help people." She watched his labored breathing. "I'm scared, of course. But if I was going to run away, I would have done it already." The sound of tires on gravel made her heart skip.

She hurried to the door, eager to meet Sammy, the nerdy little brother Dean had spoken of. She unchained the lock and flung it open before he could even knock.

"Hi, I'm Sam." Tiffany's jaw dropped; this was no kid. In fact, there was nothing little about him. He towered over her. He was at least her age, maybe older, with broad shoulders and shaggy hair. There was a cardboard box in his arms. "You must be Carly," he smiled warmly.

She shut her mouth. "Hello."

"You alright?" he asked, wrinkling his forehead. Just like Dean.

"I guess I was expecting, um…"

"A teenager? Nope. Sorry about that." He grinned, showing dimples like his brother's.

Tiffany giggled. "Either way, I'm glad to have you here."

He set down the box and went over to Dean. "How's he doing?"

"Not so good."

He checked Dean's pulse, frowning. He leaned in and patted his arm. "Dean, hey, can you hear me?" The way he fretted over his brother was painful to watch. "We should hurry," he said.

Bobby's warning echoed in her head.

Sam began unloading the box, arranging objects across the bed. "Thanks for doing this. Dean's really lucky you were here. I mean, what are the chances? It's like he's got a guardian angel or something."

Tiffany was torn. "Your brother… he's saved a lot of people?"

"Yeah, he has." He beamed with pride.

She found herself blinking back tears. "Can I ask you a weird question?"

His back was to her, but she could see him tense up. "It doesn't get much weirder than this."

"Do you believe in God?"

He turned to give a puzzled smile. "I guess I do. I pray every night."

"Me too," she said, surprised. "Sam, do you think that God puts people in our lives for a reason? I mean, my being here, meeting your brother, all this… maybe it's not a coincidence?"

Sam stared at the floor for a long moment before meeting her eyes. "I think, to some extent, our lives are already mapped out. We can still make decisions, but where we end up is already decided." He looked so sincere.

"What you guys do… is it worth it?"

"Always." He didn't hesitate.

Tiffany made her decision. "What's my part?"

He visibly relaxed. He pulled a folded sheet of paper from his shirt pocket and handed it to her. She unfolded it and glanced over it. "Can you read that?" he asked.

"I know how to pronounce the words, if that's what you mean. No idea what it says."

* * *

They stood on opposite sides of the bed. Tiffany rolled up Dean's shirt to expose the strange patterns which now covered his entire back. Sam picked up a small wooden box, and let out a nervous breath. "Whenever you're ready."

She lifted the page and began to read. "Ambe jiibay oniijaani." Sam scattered the contents of the box over Dean's body as she spoke. "Niin noondam, bapaakwa'am aakozi." The brown lines began to glow. Tiffany gasped.

Sam nodded. "Keep going."

"Bizindam!" Her voice sounded high and strained. "Wiisagendam zhawenim." The lines glowed brighter, almost gold-colored. "Oniijaani zaaga'am. Aanimizi!" Tendrils of light rose up from Dean's skin." She looked to Sam, frightened.

His arms were shaking as if the tiny box weighed a hundred pounds.

She gripped the paper. "Maajaa bakwebin anidookaazo." The gold lights began snaking towards the wooden box. Did that mean it was working? "Jiibay bizindam."

"Finish it," Sam urged.

"Niin gidiskibidoon." Tiffany braced herself. "Weniban!"

Nothing happened. Sam looked at her, baffled. The glowing vines hovered in the air. "Niin gidiskibidoon," she read again, louder. "Weniban?" Still no change. The sheet of paper slipped from her fingers and drifted to the ground.

What happened next, Tiffany would never be able to explain. It rose from some deep, ancient place inside her; things buried and long forgotten. Her hands shot up to grip the box. Sam stumbled back in astonishment.

"Maajaa!" Her voice was steady now. "Odaapin niinitam." The lights narrowed and intensified, a rich shade of brownish-gold. She noticed an earthy smell, like pine needles and wet moss. "Aatawe!" she commanded. For a split second, all the light pulled inwards, and she held her breath. Then it burst out. She felt herself flying backwards. Everything went black.

* * *

She heard voices far off and faint. Someone was gripping her shoulder, shaking her. She let out a groan. "Can you hear me?" a man's voice asked. She forced her eyes open. Sam was leaning over her. "Are you hurt?"

Tiffany wondered why she was lying on the carpet. Then she remembered. "Did it work?"

"Sure did." Dean was grinning down at her.

Relief washed over her. She tried to sit up, and the guys each took her by an arm and lifted her to her feet.

Dean smoothed her hair down. "Hey. Thank you." His tone was sincere.

She smirked. "I've saved your ass twice now," she teased. "You really owe me."

His green eyes filled with mischief. "Oh, yeah? Name your price."

She only hesitated for a second. She slipped her hand behind his neck and pulled him to her, pressing her lips against his. After the initial shock, he was kissing back. He cupped his hands around her head and made the kiss deeper.

"I'll just give you two a minute," Sam offered.

Tiffany laughed, in spite of herself.

Dean wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her in a bear hug. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm starving."

Sam was reaching in his pocket. "Just a sec..." He pulled out his mobile and flipped it open. "Hi Bobby."

Oh, crap. Tiffany cringed. Dean shot her a questioning look.

"Yeah, we're done," Sam was saying. "Wait, what!" His gaze landed on her. "No, she didn't." He was indignant. "Hang on, Bobby." Sam lowered the phone. "Carly, was there anything you were supposed to tell me?"

She held up her hands in surrender.

Dean looked back and forth between them. "Alright, what did I miss?"


	9. Chapter 9

Tiffany was getting scolded. They had walked two blocks to stand in line at a carry-out food stand. Sam had read her the riot act all the way there, and he didn't seem to be slowing. "I get that you're new to all this, but that doesn't give you a free pass. What were you thinking?"

"He was dying, Sam, I had to do something."

Dean was scanning the crowd, highly conscious of the who might be listening in.

"We were going to! You didn't have to lie to me."

"I never lied, exactly." She felt childish as soon as the words left her mouth.

"So you just forgot that Bobby called and told you to wait?"

Dean shushed them; he had reached the front of the line. He placed his order, then waved for his brother to continue.

"We would have worked it out," said Sam. "You didn't have to throw yourself under the bus."

"I'm fine; nothing happened!" They hushed as the cashier handed Dean his meatball sub and drink.

"You sure about that?" Sam continued. "I was there, remember?" He stopped to place his order, then turned to Dean. "Any time you want to pitch in here..."

"Nah, you're doing great on your own." He raised his cup in salute.

"Either way," Tiffany interrupted, "it came out fine. Look at him, it worked!"

"But it shouldn't have!" Sam said, a little too loudly. A few heads turned their direction. Sam stooped closer, lowering his voice. "Do you even know what you did back there? These rituals can be pretty dicey. There can be side effects." He turned to get his pizza from the cashier.

Tiffany ordered next, then faced Sam. It took her a few tries to get the words out. "What kind of side effects?" she asked. The brothers shared a heavy look.

Sam changed the subject. "Did you see anything strange during the ritual? When you were knocked out? Did you hear anything? Smell anything? Feel anything?"

She shook her head. The cashier brought her order, but her appetite was gone. The party of three sat down around a little plastic table. The guys both dug right into their food, but Tiffany sat with her hands in her lap, feeling completely deflated.

After a moment, Sam turned to her. "I'm not trying to scare you, Carly, but that ritual should not have worked. It wasn't, actually..."

"Not Carly," Dean corrected.

She cringed. "It's Tiffany, actually."

"I'm sorry," Sam was thrown. "I guess Bobby thought you said Carly."

"Probably because I did."

"Carly Simon," said Dean, amused with himself.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Your idea?" He held back a smile. "Anyway. Tiffany, what can you remember?"

"Well, it was weird. I read all the words, and it wasn't working. Then I just _knew_ what we'd gotten wrong. I remembered how it was supposed to go. Not that I've done it before! No, more like I got a memory from somebody who understood the ritual." The guys were looking at her oddly. "Am I making any sense?"

Dean gestured with his sandwich. "You remembered someone else's memory. Remembory? Reb..."

Sam ignored him. "So you understood what you were saying?"

"Not at all. I just knew what to say."

Sam nodded. "What made you grab the Peyote box from me?"

"You mean that carved wood thing? I didn't mean to. It pulled at me, like… like..."

"A magnet," Dean finished. They both gaped at him.

"How did you know that?" Tiffany asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Dean froze mid-bite. He was at a loss.

Sam waved it off. "So Tiffany, you were holding the box, you said the correct words, then what?"

"That was it. I knew I'd nailed it. Everything it got really bright, then _kablooey_." Her hands mimicked an explosion. "No wait, hang on. Right before, I smelled…"

"Sulfur?" Sam asked.

"Um, no…" she gave a confused frown. "It was more… outdoorsy?"

The guys looked perplexed. "We should get her to Bobby," said Dean.

"Right," Sam nodded. He shook Tiffany's basket of chicken at her. "Eat up, then we'll hit the road."

* * *

She'd left the boys outside arguing about driving arrangements.

TIffany did a final sweep of the motel room to make sure she didn't leave anything. In the bathroom, she examined herself in the mirror. The stress of the past few days had left her looking a little worse for wear. She rubbed some face lotion on her skin and squinted at her reflection.

When she carried her bag outside, the guys were sitting on the hood of the black car. They didn't hear her open the door, and their voices carried over. "...can trust her or not," Sam was saying.

"I get that," Dean answered, "but she had no problem handling the cops."

"Still, that's just civilian stuff. You add in everything else that's been thrown at her, you've seen what that does to people. We both have."

"I don't know man, if she was going to run away, I think she would have done it already." Tiffany's eyes grew huge. Sam glanced up and saw her, nudged his brother.

Dean walked up and stood facing her, almost toe-to-toe. He reached his hand out, placing his fingers over hers. She held her breath. Then he took the suitcase from her hand, turned, and carried it away. "Hey!" she shouted, following after him. "What the hell?"

"Insurance." He chucked it into the backseat of his car. Then he got in the driver's seat and slammed the door.

Sam explained, "if we have something of yours, it's less likely you'll try to ditch us."

"Insurance, huh?" She walked over to the passenger side of the car and leaned in. Dean was looking straight ahead, ignoring her as she scanned the inside of the car. Her gaze landed on a shoebox full of cassette tapes with hand-written labels. She took it.

"Whoa, stop!" She had his attention now. "Where are you taking those?"

"With me. Can't have you ditch me, either."

"That is not an even trade!" He looked desperate. "Come on."

Sam was practically giggling.

* * *

Tiffany slammed on her brakes. The black car had veered off the road so fast, she almost missed the turn. She pulled in behind them, swearing to herself. She looked around; they were at a rest area set on a small landscaped park. Theirs were the only two cars in the parking lot.

After an impatient few minutes, she got out of the jeep to see what was going on. She caught a bit of Sam's voice, "without seeing the remains."

Dean spoke up. "I was there, remember? The salt didn't do zip against this thing."

"But a knife through the heart will kill a lot of things, not just shapeshifters."

She cleared her throat, and they both looked guilty. "Please tell me we're not going to drive all night?"

Dean didn't miss a beat. "I usually go all night. Why, you getting tired?"

"Yes, actually I am. Because unlike you, I didn't sleep through the past two days."

Sam cut in. "Usually Dean and I take shifts, but maybe we should find someplace to crash for a few hours."

"Great," said Dean, flatly, "you do that." He got out of the car and headed toward the main building. It was a small concrete square with glass doors, lit up from the inside.

Sam climbed out of the passenger side and stretched. He looked beat. She had forgotten that he'd just pulled an all-nighter to get to her this morning. Was that really just today? It seemed like weeks had passed. Sam pushed his hair back and noticed her watching him. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Tired," she said. "Do you guys even know what a normal sleep schedule looks like?"

He laughed. "I doubt it. Could be worse, though." They headed toward the little building together. He kept looking at her sideways. "Sorry if I keep asking, but are you doing alright since the ritual? Have you noticed anything strange?"

"I'm fine, Sam," she couldn't help smiling. "But thank you for worrying about me. It doesn't bother me. Kind of nice, actually."

"Dean is worried too. He just doesn't talk about it before he absolutely has to."

"Wow," she giggled. "Am I that transparent, or are you just that good at reading people?"

He smiled. "Maybe both."

Once inside, she headed to the restroom, leaving Sam to search a wall of brochures and pamphlets from local businesses. When she came out, Dean was waiting for her on a bench.

"Where's Sam?" she asked.

"Calling motels. We've got time."

"Time for what?" she asked, when he didn't continue.

"No easy way to say this," he looked at her. "What are you, exactly?"

"Excuse me?" She glared at him. "I'm a girl. I thought you knew. Or are you implying I'm not a person?" He didn't even blink. "I am not one of your monsters, Dean. I am a human being."

"Alright, I'll buy that. What did you do to me?"

She was hurt. "You already know what I did. I was trying to help you."

"Help _me_," he was skeptical. "What do you want?"

"I don't know, world peace?"

"Cut it out and answer the question," he shouted.

Her eyes grew wide, but she didn't budge. "I don't care how many things you've killed, Dean, you do not talk to me like that, ever again."

Dean's eyes fluttered in surprise. He shut his mouth and stared at her.

She walked out of the building, and after a moment he jogged to catch up. Without turning to look at him, she said, "you want to try that again? Only this time, treat me like a person."

He swallowed hard. "Why are you here?" She was silent. "Why did you stick around?"

"You mean why didn't I run screaming when I found you in the bathroom covered with blood? I'm not sure. It seemed important. _You_ seem important."

Dean stopped walking. "You already said that."

She turned to face him. "Wait, how do you..."

"You were waiting for Sam, and you were talking to me." His eyes grew wider. "I'm glad I met you?"

Tiffany's jaw dropped. "You were unconscious!"

"I guess so." He looked as bewildered as she felt.

"But you heard… everything?"

When they got back to the parking lot, Sam was sitting sideways in the passenger seat, his long legs sticking out the door. "I'm on hold," he told them.


	10. Chapter 10

Another night, another motel. The brothers had come to a decision that it would be easier to keep an eye on Tiffany if they all shared one room. They were really paranoid about her trying to run off.

Sam was taking the stitches out of Dean's back. It was agreed that he shouldn't be fully healed already, but he was, and nobody wanted to talk about why. The boys were hunched over a table by the window, because it had the best light. It was obvious they were used to playing nurse.

Tiffany wondered about sleeping arrangements. Since there were three of them and only two beds, would the guys be sharing? They were brothers, after all; only very large brothers to share such an average-sized bed.

When it finally dawned on her, she felt silly. "I'll sleep on the couch," she told Dean. He was headed to the bathroom after gathering a change of clothes.

"No, you won't," he looked insulted. "I take the couch. Lady gets the bed."

What a relief. "Thanks. Very chivalrous of you." Dean gave a bow before shutting himself in the bathroom. He had called dibs on first shower. To be fair, he hadn't washed up properly since before Black Forest and that whole mess. Sam sprawled out across the bed nearest the door, fully dressed but for his shoes.

Tiffany sat on the empty bed, her bed, and pulled off her shoes and socks. Her mind was exhausted, but her limbs were restless. She looked over at Sam, then grinned. He was already out cold.

She heard the spray of water from the bathroom as Dean turned on the shower. The memory sprang to mind of Dean in nothing but his boxer briefs, just before she stitched him up. He was muscular, but not like the men who lift weights at the gym because they want to look good. Dean was tightly drawn from his shoulders to his calves, like someone who never in his life had the luxury of not being in shape. At the time she'd been too focused on his injuries, and the work at hand, but the memory was hers to keep. Save it for a rainy day.

Hopping off the bed, she walked to the window. The sun was low, and the temperature outside was perfect. She could slip out for a quick walk, maybe even get back before she was noticed missing. On second thought, she scribbled a few words on motel stationery and left it in the center of her bed.

* * *

She found a walking trail just behind the motel, a dirt path leading away from the road. The fresh evening air was refreshing. She walked for five minutes before noticing she had forgotten her shoes. No matter, the ground was smooth and warm under her feet.

Tiffany had always found nature to be soothing, but now the effect seemed much more powerful. She heard cicadas, and further away, rushing water. All the worries that had been scratching at her mind were quiet now. She followed the winding path through tall grass.

"Tiffany..." Dean's voice made her jump. "What's going on?" She heard the concern in his voice, but she found herself annoyed. She knew he would make her go back indoors. "Tiff, come on!" It had been so peaceful, how dare he barge in like this? She took off at a sprint.

She heard him swear, then give chase. She didn't dare glance back. She could hear the steady huff of his breathing; he was gaining on her. She veered off the path. Dean was at a disadvantage here, the soft ground sucking at his boots. Tiffany's bare feet darted over the grass.

She only lost her lead when the ground began to slope downhill. The traction on his shoes allowed him to close the gap between them. She pushed herself into a dead run.

He tackled her; in one smooth motion he dove, wrapping his arms around her, heaving his weight to one side so when they landed he took most of the impact. They tumbled into the soft grass.

Catching her breath, Tiffany rolled to her hands and knees. "Son of a bitch," Dean panted. He scrambled after her. He managed to catch hold of her by the leg, and she let out a surprised grunt as she lost her balance. Dean climbed up over her. He twisted her elbow, pinning her arm against her back. "Are you done?" he asked gruffly. She struggled under him. Gripping her shoulder, he forced her over onto her back. Now he was straddling her waist. "Tiffany?" She was still searching for an escape. He gripped the back of her head, forcing her to look at him. "Please, it's me!"

She blinked, and confusion came across her face. "Dean?" she whispered.

He moved off of her and sat down in the grass. Tiffany stayed on her back for a moment. She couldn't remember why she had fled from him. Judging by the way he was staring at her, he was wondering the same thing.

She rolled over and pushed up to her feet. "I just needed some air. I'm sorry."

He frowned, not buying her explanation. Tiffany turned and went back the way they came, following their path of bent and trampled grass. When she got back to the trail, she stopped. "This way," said Dean, cutting around her. They turned away from the motel and continued on the path. Neither spoke.

Suddenly they were at a clearing. "Wow." Tiffany couldn't help it, the scene was inspiring. The sun hung low over the river. Large birds stood in the water and in the tall grass. Several picnic tables were placed around the edges of the open space. This was a man-made site, but everyone must have cleared out for the day.

She spotted a water pump and headed that direction. Her throat was dry after all the running. She tried raising and lowering the handle a few times, but all she got was a hollow creaking sound. "Must be broken," she said.

"You have to prime it," Dean offered. She held up her hands as he stepped in. He cranked the pump handle fast several times, then held it in the upward position. Clear water rushed out. Tiffany ducked her head and leaned her mouth into the stream of water. She could feel his eyes on her. After she drank, she rinsed the dirt off her feet. Then she wandered across the grass while Dean took a long drink.

The sky was showing hints of purple and orange. She hoisted herself up on a picnic table, dangling her legs off the edge. Dean came to stand beside her. They both gazed out over the water.

"Something's wrong with me," Tiffany said. He was silent. She wanted him to deny it, tell her it was nothing. His lack of response only made her feel worse. "Dean, I'm scared."

That got him. "Hey, you'll be alright," he said gently. He placed his hands on her shoulders, trying to comfort her, but his eyes betrayed him. "We're going to figure this out. Sam and Bobby are smart. We'll find a way to fix it. Promise."

"What if we can't?"

He stooped down to meet her eyes. "You listen to me." His hands cupped her face protectively. "I will protect you." He searched her face, wanting to ease the hurt. His gaze fell to her mouth. He tipped his head, eyes half shut as he brought his lips to hers. She closed her eyes. The kiss was soft, hesitant, much gentler than she expected. She curled her fingers in his shirt as his lips brushed across hers. She wanted more.

"Dean," she exhaled. He pulled back, his eyes troubled. Tiffany had an alarming thought; this might be the last time she'd ever be alone with him. Whatever was happening to her, there was a chance she wouldn't come out of it. Tomorrow they would be at Bobby's, and Sam was waiting back at the motel room. She made a decision. "Dean, do you want me?"

"Oh God, do I." Their mouths collided. He kissed her aggressively, making her shiver. His tongue brushed over hers. This was the kiss she'd been craving. His fingers tangled in her hair and he tipped his head to kiss her harder. Ragged breathing filled her ears.

As they kissed, his hands moved skillfully over her; one hand was under the back of her shirt, the other now wrapped around her thigh. Her legs wrapped around his waist, urging him closer until his thighs bumped the edge of the table. The heat from his body radiated through their clothes. Even through the denim, she could feel him pressing into her, hard and straining.

There were too many layers between them. She tugged his flannel shirt back over his shoulders, grateful he hadn't taken time to button it. He stepped back to pull it off his arms and toss it aside, then he stripped off his t-shirt as well.

He brought his lips to her throat and began to work his way down, sucking gently over her neck, licking under the fabric of her shirt. He paused with his chin between her breasts. His fingers tugged at the waist of her pants. She dropped back to her elbows on the table, allowing him to pull everything over her hips, down her legs, and off. The rush of cool air brought goosebumps to her skin.

Dean knelt before her, and the air caught in her throat. His lips trailed up her thigh, his stubble rubbing over her tender skin. Then his mouth reached her. She arched her body toward the contact, letting her head fall back. She heard herself pleading, praising his ability.

Tiffany realized she would not last much longer. She reached for him. "Dean," she panted, "wait!" He met her, apprehension on his face. "I don't want to be done yet," she smiled. Relief and gratification washed over him. He kissed her again, thoroughly. She could taste herself on his chin.

His nimble fingers worked the buttons on her shirt. She pushed her hand down the back of his jeans; he truly was firm all over. She opened his fly. Dean gave a pained gasp when her fingers brushed against him through the fabric. Easing back, he slipped a hand inside his briefs and pulled himself free. Tiffany took a peek... nice. His eyes squeezed shut as she curved her fingers around him.

"Hang on," he said shortly, catching her wrist. The want in his eyes made her stomach twist. He dug his wallet out of his pocket and fished through it. Then he triumphantly held up a little foil packet. Tiffany laughed. His eyes strayed to their surroundings, then back to her. "Come here," he said, scooping her up off the picnic table.

He lowered them both to the ground, then pushed the hair back from her face with his fingertips. His eyes swept up her body. Those damn green eyes. "Is this... are you ready?"

"Absolutely." Her heart was in her throat as he unwrapped the condom and expertly rolled it on. She put a hand against his chest. "Me first."

Dean reclined on the grass. He shoved his pants down his thighs as she climbed on top of him. She guided him into position with her hand, and his gaze fell to watch. He licked his lips. As she slid down onto him, he exhaled in a loud hiss, baring his teeth.

She rolled her hips, bringing low moans from his throat. His hands were everywhere.

Her hair trailed across his skin as she bent forward, playing her mouth over his chest, his neck. Occasionally his fingers would tighten on her. His body quivered. She pressed her tongue to the underside of his chin. "Tiffany," he growled. "Hold up." His back strained. "Tiff!" She continued to sway against him.

He twisted off the ground and rolled them both over. Tiffany gasped at the loss of contact. "Come here," she sighed. His body loomed above her as he shrugged his pants down past his knees. She desperately raised her hips up off the ground. He planted his forearms on either side of her head, then gently nudged into her and began to move.

Dean was all muscle and skill. His body swung in smooth rhythm like a piston. Before long she was gasping at every forge of his hips.

Soon his breathing became more erratic, he began to lose pace. They were both damp with sweat. He started to pull away. "Dean, please," she begged, wrapping her legs around him. He swallowed hard.

Tiffany clutched at him, digging her nails into his biceps, her back arching. He slowed his movements until she was whimpering beneath him. His body trembled as he tried to hold on. When she let out a high pitched cry and her hips thrashed against him, he threw his head back as a primitive sound escaped his lungs. He was done for.

* * *

For a while they stayed together on the grass, catching their breath. It was dark now, they had missed the sunset. Oh well. Tiffany's sweat-dampened body was quickly growing cool. She ran her fingers over Dean's hair. He placed a dry kiss on her forehead, then rolled to his back and hitched up his pants.

She pulled her shirt up over her shoulders and started on the buttons. He made a quick stop by the trash can, then began to gather their clothes. "Heads up," he said, tossing over her pants.

With all their clothes back in place, they stood looking at each other for a long moment. She wanted to say a thousand different things, but nothing quite fit. A mix of emotions crossed his face, too quickly for her to catch them all. "We should get back," he finally said, but made no move to go. His eyes crinkled in a slight smile. "Til next time?"


	11. Chapter 11

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks for your patience on this chapter. I have the rest of the story finished, it just needs some minor fixes. I hope you enjoy the backstory of the Oniijaani as much as I did when I discovered it!

* * *

When they returned to the room, Sam jumped up, looking half asleep and disoriented. "Did you find her?" Tiffany raised her hand in awkward greeting. Dean walked straight past without a word. Sam looked from one to the other.. "Whatever. Tell me in the morning," he said before collapsing onto the bed.

Tiffany slipped into the bathroom. As she brushed her teeth, she glanced in the mirror. Her reflection looked positively smug. She had to hold back a giggle. Things might get weird between them, but for now she was counting it worth the risk.

After she scrubbed the dirt from her feet, she debated what to sleep in. First she changed into the oversized t-shirt she usually slept in, then wondered if it would be better to sleep in her day clothes. Eventually she decided on the t-shirt with some workout pants for modesty.

Dean was on the sofa watching television when she came out. The flickering screen lit up his face in the dark room. She sat down on the edge of the bed, facing him. "Aren't you going to get some sleep?" He held a finger to his lips and pointed at Sam, as if to say quiet, or you'll wake him. She rolled her eyes.

"I just slept for two straight days, remember?" his voice was low and raspy. "Besides, somebody has to make sure you don't take a midnight stroll."

* * *

Tiffany was dreaming again, but this was a nightmare, and a vivid one.

_Dean and Jason were in the woods, and they were being stalked. Their predator hid in the undergrowth and behind trees. They moved deftly, weapons raised. Jason listened hard, his eyes darting around cautiously. It drew closer. Dean circled, stepping quietly, keeping his back to Jason. The creature rushed in, going first at Dean. Air whooshed out of him as he hit the ground. His feet scrambled against the ground, he couldn't take a breath. It turned on Jason, who stood braced and ready. Then his expression changed, from rage, to surprise. His weapon dropped. The thing attacked. He was flung to the ground, but he made no attempt to resist._

_Suddenly it was thrown back. The men were retreating, Jason's head wobbling, his arm pulled over Dean's shoulders. It dove after them. All three crashed to the ground. Dean attempted to shield Jason's body, but a sharp kick to the ribs put him out of the way. It began to rip into Jason. She heard his grunts of pain as his skin was torn, but he didn't fight back. "I'm sorry," he sobbed._

"Can you hear me?" The voice was not Jason's. It seemed familiar, but far away from the cloud of her dream. "Wake up! Tiffany?" It was bright in the room; she was not in any forest.

Her vision slowly focused and she saw Sam hovering over her, looking fretful. He pulled his hands away. Had he been shaking her awake, or holding her down? Her heart was pounding in her ears and she was still breathing hard.

"Hey, it's okay," he said, trying to make his voice soothing."You're awake. It's me, Sam, remember?"

She made a face. "Of course I remember you, Sam." Her voice came out scratchy from sleep. Or had she been screaming? "It was a nightmare, not a concussion."

He smiled, relieved at her tone. "You want to talk about it?"

She glared at him for a second. Was he just being nice? "It was that thing in the forest."

His eyebrows shot up. "You saw it?"

"No, not exactly. I just saw what it did."

"What do you remember?" He was serious.

"It tracked them. It wanted to kill Jason, so it followed them. He didn't try to get away. He didn't fight back. He just..." She could still see the blood, the shredded body. It was still too clear in her mind. Her stomach churned, and she inhaled through her nose, fighting it.

Sam was unshaken. "I'm sorry. What else?"

"It didn't care about Dean. He just got in the way." Tiffany glanced around the room. "Where is he? Instantly she worried that might have sounded too eager.

"Gassing up the cars." After a moment, Sam ambled over to the window, running a hand over his hair. When he turned back, his grim expression was gone. "So, where did you run off to last night?"

She felt her face get warm. "I needed some air. After Dean caught up, we went for a walk."

"How far did you go? You were gone nearly an hour."

It took her a second to realize that he wasn't asking about second base. "We found a little campsite on the river." She hoped he wouldn't notice how her cheeks flushed. She kept talking to distract herself. "We got there right as the sun was going down. It was really pretty."

"Let me get this straight, you took a walk and watched the sun set? You and Dean?" He was incredulous. "What have you done to him?"

Though she knew Sam was joking, for some reason she felt awful.

He backpedaled. "Tiffany, I'm just kidding, sorry! I think it's nice."

She tried to smile. "No, I know. It's not that." Her stomach was doing flips. "That ritual… what if I did really do something to him?"

"Like what?"

"I think he got some of my memories. He's been remembering things that happened when he was unconscious, things that I said, things he couldn't have heard."

Sam looked a bit relieved. "I've heard of people coming out of a coma, and they've been aware the whole time even when they couldn't respond."

"Maybe," she chewed her lip.

"Either way, we'll keep an eye on him. Don't worry."

It wasn't long before Dean returned. He had a bag of wrapped breakfast sandwiches, and they sat around the tiny table to eat. Dean set a styrofoam cup in front of her. "There's a little bit of coffee in there, to go with your cream and sugar." She smiled, pleasantly surprised. When her eyes met his, she suddenly thought of the way his eyelids fluttered and the vulgar sound he'd made when he entered her. She quickly looked away, shifting uncomfortably on her chair. Not letting things get weird might be tougher than she planned.

The boys practically inhaled a few sausage and egg sandwiches. She ate a few bites of one and folded the rest back up in it's wax paper wrapper. She had been avoiding Dean's eyes, and Sam's too for that matter. He was watching the two of them suspiciously. She kept her head down, intently focused on her coffee cup.

Out of the corner of her vision, she noticed Dean's head reaching behind her head. Her back stiffened. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Hold still," he said. His fingers plucked something from her hair, then dropped it on the table in front of her. A leaf. There had been a dry leaf stuck in her hair this whole time. Her face went red.

* * *

Five hours later, they were in Sioux Falls. She'd spent roughly half of the drive agonizing over what happened between Dean and herself. The rest of the time she had played his mix tapes at top volume and sang along, to try and keep herself from dwelling on things. She was actually relieved when she saw the black car pull into a driveway.

Tiffany had an idea of Bobby in her mind from speaking with him on the phone. He was nothing she expected. His redneck appearance was a complete disguise for the intelligent, caring man she understood him to be. Bobby was noticeably shorter than Dean or Sam, but held a familiar sort of authority over them regardless.

His home was as much of a contradiction as the man himself. He lived in a lovely old country farmhouse, in the middle of a junk yard. She let Dean direct her where to park her jeep, and hoped that rust wasn't contagious.

Bobby led the way to his kitchen. There was a large vat of mystery soup on the stovetop, which he ladled out into bowls for each of them. Sam and Dean followed him to a table overflowing with musty old books. "Care to join us?" Bobby offered.

"I don't want to intrude," she tried to excuse herself politely. "Besides, this stuff is all foreign to me."

"Up to you," he shrugged, "but we've all had to start somewhere." He picked out a book from the pile and flipped it open.

She'd had quite enough information dumped on her in the past week, she wasn't sure how much her brain could handle. Yet somehow Bobby had made her feel welcome, but not pressured, to sit in. She spotted a couch against the wall where she could sit and watch. She scurried over with her bowl.

Dean spoke up. "So, did you figure out what we're dealing with?"

"Maybe. For starters, let me tell you what all I've found," Bobby said. "In the Ojibwe dialect, 'oniijaani' means 'female deer.' Some of the texts refer to her as the Deer Maiden. The original came from the Oklahoma tribes; good call on that one, Sam."

"But what exactly is this thing?" Sam asked.

"Well, that's where it gets weird," Bobby continued. "The legends refer to a human girl who was killed. Here's one version: Many years ago, a group of men took the purity of a young woman from a nearby tribe. After their brutal attack, they left her in a field to die."

"Wait… took her purity?" Dean was appalled.

Sam frowned, shaking his head. "That's… wow. So she's a vengeful spirit?"

"Not exactly." Bobby read more from the old book. "Legend tells us that a sympathetic doe came to comfort her as she took her final breath. The oniijaani stayed with her so she would not be alone on her journey back to Mother Earth. The men were never punished for the murder of this woman. So in her next life, the gods blessed her with the strength and speed of a deer. She usually appears as a beautiful woman."

"Ha!" Dean hit the table with his fist. "Shapeshifter. Who called it?"

"Quiet, skippy, I'm wasn't finished," Bobby said. "It became her task to ensure security and justice for young women. Some encounters portray her as a dangerous creature who might seduce men, especially promiscuous or adulterous men."

Sam almost choked on his soup. "Promiscuous men? Oh, Dean..."

Dean punched him in the arm.

Bobby cleared his throat and shot them a dirty look. "Often a man becomes enchanted by her, drifting away from home and family. If the spell is not broken, he falls into depression, despair, prostitution, and ultimately, death."

Sam's back shook with laughter. "Prostitution! I always knew it."

"You're a ...prostitute," Dean muttered.

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Idjits."

Sam tried to act serious, a smile pulling at his mouth. "Right. Don't sirens feed that way?"

Bobby nodded thoughtfully before reading on. "Although the Deer Maiden is usually a benign spirit, on occasion she has been known to physically attack, trampling her victims to death with her sharp, cloven hooves."

Now they all became serious. Dean rubbed his hand over his hair. "That sounds about right."

Tiffany thought about her nightmare. She could no longer pretend it was only a dream. This was the thing that had killed Jason. She felt panic rising in her chest, and stood up awkwardly. "Well, I'm glad that's all figured out. Is there anything I can help with around here? Somewhere else, maybe..."

* * *

She played a game of solitaire with the deck of cards Sam had loaned her. It was almost too mindless, she needed to be busier. She washed the empty soup bowls, then dried them. She would have put them away, but after opening several cupboards that were most definitely not for bowls, she quit trying.

The air felt too thin, she couldn't get a deep breath. She went to the kitchen window and cracked it open. The slight breeze smelled earthy and clean. Fresh air might help soothe her nerves. She peeked around the corner; everyone was hunched over the mountain of books on the table. They wouldn't even notice she was gone.

Outside, Tiffany shut her eyes and filled her lungs. The air out here was easier to breathe.

She strolled along, away from the house, past rows upon rows of cars until she reached the edge of the woods. She inhaled the pure air. It felt clean. More. She ran her fingers over the bark of a pine tree. The wave of relief almost brought tears to her eyes. She kicked off her shoes and pulled off her socks. Her toes in the cool grass felt magnificent. More. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt so serene. The smells and textures around her washed every trace of worry from her mind. She wanted to stay here forever, unbothered by the world. More! She closed her eyes and tried to soak it all in.

Then she was ambushed. Heavy cloth wrapped around her like a net, pinning her arms to her body. "NO!" She reacted without thought, like a wild animal, lashing out against whatever was trying to trap her.

"Tiffany!" It was Sam. His strong arms were clasped around her torso. "Tiffany, stop!"

She couldn't seem to focus. "What's happening?" she gasped. Her entire body was screaming at her to run away.

"Let's get you back inside," he said gently.

Panic still clouded her thoughts, but she let him lead her a few steps. The cool air over her bare legs made her glance down. Where had her clothes gone? A big flannel shirt was pulled around her body, covering her almost to her knees. She shook her head. "Sam? I don't remember…"

"You're alright. Come on."

Her legs gave out, but Sam had her; he scooped her up easily. She whimpered as he took her further away from the trees, but forced herself not to struggle. She let her head drop to his shoulder.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: We are nearing the end of our story! I'd love to hear what you think so far. Leave a review or send me a private message, I welcome constructive criticism as much as praise. Thank you for reading!


	12. Chapter 12

"Guys, in here," Sam yelled as he carried Tiffany through the door. He gently lowered her onto the couch.

Bobby came around the corner, taking in the scene. "Uh, Sam? Tell me this ain't what it looks like." Sam shot him a look. Dean stopped behind him, wide-eyed.

Tiffany knew she ought to feel embarrassed, but it was taking all her willpower not to throw off the suffocating flannel and make a run for the door.

"I just followed her," Sam assured them. "She was acting strange."

Bobby crouched down beside her. "Tiffany, you in there?" She nodded, eyes scrunched shut. "Talk to me. What happened?"

She tried to concentrate. "There wasn't enough air in here, I just needed to get outside. Being in the woods felt… better." She squirmed against the scratchy fabric, and Bobby quickly averted his eyes.

Dean swooped down and kept her from exposing herself. "Quit it. Hey, come on." Bobby gave him a heavy look, and motioned Sam into the hall. Dean put both hands on her shoulders. "You've got to fight this."

Tiffany focused hard, trying to find something in her mind to push back against. Nothing felt foreign or out of place; she simply longed to be outdoors, in the fresh air. She craved it, even yearned for it. She tried to block out the memory of the bark against her fingertips, the soft earth under her feet. She focused on the solid wooden floor and the rub of the flannel against her skin. Slowly, she came back to herself.

In the quiet, she heard Sam talking to Bobby around the corner. "It looked like she was sleepwalking. When she got to the trees she just started… taking her clothes off. I tried to stop her, but… it was like she couldn't see me, like she was out of her head."

Dean heard too, and moved to sit beside her. "Listen to me. You're going to be fine. I promise."

"You don't know that."

He put his arm around her and she leaned into him. She breathed him in. His unwashed scent was almost as inviting as the sensations of the forest. "We're going to fix this," he said into her hair. Then he shifted, and raised his voice. "Aren't we?"

"Yes, of course," Sam had come back in.

Bobby sighed. "Fine, but if we stand a chance of figuring this out, we're gonna need your full cooperation. No more of this running off bullcrap." Tiffany nodded enthusiastically. "And put some clothes on," he added.

* * *

Tiffany sat on the bottom step of the wooden stairs. The fog had cleared from her head enough that she was mortified. She'd gotten dressed in record time, but hadn't quite worked up her nerve to face everyone. Voices wafted in from the other room.

"But she's human," Dean sounded puzzled. "Or humanoid, at least?"

"You tell us. You tested her, right?" Bobby asked.

"Holy water, first time I met her. Nothing."

Sam joined in. "But the Deer Maiden wouldn't be affected by…"

Tiffany couldn't take any more. "Excuse me! Do you seriously think I'm some kind a of monster?"

All three spun around guiltily. Dean was the first to venture an answer. "Not a monster, just…"

"A freak?" The men exchanged a cautious look, which further infuriated her. "I know you guys are used to this crap, but please don't talk about me like I'm some nasty shape-changer animal-thing. I am just a girl, and you guys are scaring me."

Sam tried to comfort her. "I know it sounds bad..."

"You think so?" Her tone was verging on hysterical.

He was calm. "We're going to help you, Tiffany. We'll be right here, no matter what thing does to you."

"No," she begged, "I'm just a normal, boring person."

"Maybe you started out that way." There was sympathy in his voice, and suddenly she felt hot tears on her face. He kept on. "It doesn't mean that you're a monster now. This is just something that was done to you. You can't go back and undo it, but you don't have to let it control you, either.

"Sammy…" Dean's voice was tender.

Sam shook his head, ignoring his brother. "Even if you are a freak, you're not automatically bad or evil. You still get to make the decisions. You don't have to hurt anyone."

Her head jerked up. "Hurt anyone? No!" She searched their faces. "I would never!"

Bobby cleared his throat. "The Oniijaani killed Jason, and you saw what she did to Dean." Tiffany was shaking her head frantically.

Dean sighed. "We're not giving up. You let us help, and we'll find a way to beat this thing. I'm not going to let you turn into something dangerous." Tiffany raised her eyes to find that Dean was looking not at her, but at Sam.

* * *

They set up a spot for her in the main room with them, where everyone could keep an eye on everyone else. Bobby brought her a cup of hot chocolate as if that could fix whatever was wrong with her. It did make her feel better. The guys were already back to scouring through their heap of ancient books, and Tiffany was attempting to help. The book she now held was older than any she'd ever seen. She was afraid to turn the pages too roughly, for fear the whole thing would crumble to dust.

"Hey, Tiff," Dean muttered. She glanced up to see Sam hunched over Dean, both studying a page of the same book. Bobby came to look over Dean's other shoulder.

Bobby spun the book around to face her. The open page showed a bold outline drawing of a bird almost identical to the one on her shoulder. Bobby tapped the picture. "What is this to you?" he asked firmly.

"It's just ...my tattoo," she felt herself turning red.

"So I'm told. What does it mean?"

Tiffany's mouth dropped open. How did he know? She glanced at Dean, but he was poker-faced. Sam gave her an apologetic look. "I couldn't help but notice."

Her cheeks burned. "I don't know, it looks Native American."

Bobby practically rolled his eyes. "I can see that. I'm asking why did you get it permanently inked on your body?"

"I don't know. I blacked it out." He stared her down. "I don't even remember picking it out."

"If we're going to help you, you need to tell the honest-to-God truth here."

"I am, I swear!"

Dean rose to her defense. "She's not lying Bobby, she doesn't remember. It came with a hangover."

Bobby raised his eyebrows. "You knew about this?"

"I just… we..." Dean stumbled for words. "She was wearing a tank top!" Bobby scowled, not sure if there was more to the story.

Sam smirked, shaking his head. "Hey, get this. That bird is an emblem of the Chippewa tribes. It's called animikii. They associated it with a strong connection to the Great Spirit. Says here, those who bear this emblem are more inclined to divination, visions, and even clairvoyance."

Tiffany was stunned into silence.

Bobby grabbed the book from Sam and skimmed the page. "I've seen these emblems do more than a few neat tricks. It's possible… Tiffany, that tattoo might have blocked that demon that tried to possess you."

"Really?" Dean was incredulous. "Like an anti-possession tattoo? Hell, we should all get one."

"Hmm." Bobby rubbed his beard. "I'm not sure it'd work on us. She's got Chippewa blood."

"Maybe a warding symbol then? Like the charms you gave us, only... permanent."

"You may be on to something there, Dean."

Sam opened and shut his mouth a few times. "Tiffany, um… could I…"

"You want to see it? Again."

He grinned, embarrassed. "If you don't mind?"

Tiffany turned in her seat, hoping no one had seen her blush. We're all adults here, she told herself. Nevermind that everyone but Bobby had already seen her naked. She carefully rolled up the back of her shirt, trying to keep her front covered.

Sam leaned in to get a better look. "You know, this language looks similar to the ritual we used. Hold on." He grabbed a sheet of paper and started copying down the words.

Bobby glanced up from his book. "Makes sense."

"This is incredible." Sam's voice was full of excitement. "We get this translated, it could be the key to what's going on. These colors..." he ran a finger over the design "...should even narrow the tribe down to a specific region. See this greenish-blue in the center?"

Dean cleared his throat deliberately, and Sam withdrew his hand. Tiffany let her shirt drop, and turned to see the two brothers exchanging an odd stare. Was Dean suddenly jealous? Then Bobby's voice startled her. "Hold her," he said coldly. Before she could react, Sam grabbed her by the wrist and shoulder and pulled her arm out straight. She turned her head to see Bobby wielding a knife.

"Don't!" She struggled pointlessly, keeping her eyes on the smooth silver blade.

"What the hell, Bobby?" Dean demanded, but he didn't move to stop them.

"Something else about that bird emblem," Bobby explained, "it was also believed to give the ability to shapeshift." He placed the tip of the blade against her forearm and neatly drew it across her skin. She gasped as the blood welled up. Nobody moved.

"Um," Sam said, after a beat. "Was that silver?"

Bobby turned the knife over in his hand. "Yeah, pretty sure." Sam let her go.

Tiffany cradled her bleeding arm. "Are you all insane?"

Dean shrugged. "Not a shapeshifter, then."


	13. Chapter 13

Bobby pulled her aside while Sam and Dean went back to the books. She followed him out to the porch. "Have a seat," he said gruffly.

She rubbed her arm, now wrapped in gauze, and sat down on the porch rail. It was already dusk. Where had the day gone? Crickets sang in the bushes, but she tried block them out.

"Listen, you don't know me from a hole in the ground," Bobby said, "and I don't expect you to trust me, but hear me out. Dean obviously likes you, and Sam wants to help you. So, I'm on board too. But I want you to understand something; those boys are like sons to me. If you're playing some kind of game here, or if you try to hurt either of them, I won't hesitate to put you down. Now… is there anything you'd like to tell me?"

Tiffany was stunned speechless. She didn't want to believe this sweet old redneck would kill her, but she didn't doubt where his loyalties were. Her mouth opened and shut a few times like a fish.

Bobby studied her, gauging her reaction. "Your parents, they human?" She nodded. "Ever play around with witchcrafts or spells?"

She finally found her voice. "Not before the one I did with Sam."

"Remind me, if you would, why did you go ahead with that after I told you not to?"

Tiffany hung her head. "I don't know. He was suffering, I was afraid not to. Guess this is what I get for being reckless."

"Reckless," Bobby chuckled. "Lot of that going around." He cocked his head to the side. "Bet you wish you'd never met any of us lot."

She thought that over. "No, I wouldn't change a thing. Even all the scary stuff, I'd rather know about it than go on living in ignorance. Assuming I do... go on living, that is."

He nodded solemnly. "The boys are working on it right now. I figure once we decipher the changes you made to the ritual…"

She stopped listening as it struck her that Dean and Sam were, at this moment, carelessly tossing around some very dangerous words. "No," she uttered, standing up too quickly, then wobbling as a wave of dizziness hit her.

"Now what?" Bobby said with irritation, as he reached out to steady her.

Tiffany pulled back, ran unsteadily for the door. Her shoulder cracked against the door frame as she stumbled through. Her vision swam. She paused to catch her balance, bracing herself against the wall.

Sam's voice carried from the other room. "_Maajaa_. Are you sure?"

"Absolutely." Dean answered. "Then something… _niinitam_. Ode... oda…"

Tiffany gathered herself and forced her legs to move. "Stop," she tried to yell, but her voice didn't carry. She fumbled down the hallway, holding her arms in front to guide her. She heard Bobby's voice but couldn't make out his words. Everything was hazy and too bright.

"Whoa, what's wrong?" Dean was in front of her. His face wasn't a blur like the rest of the room, and his presence calmed her.

"She wasn't going to kill you," she told him.

Sam rose suddenly, almost knocking his chair over backwards. He came to stand beside his brother. "What did you say?" he asked Tiffany.

Her gaze did not shift. "She never wanted to hurt you, Dean. You didn't deserve to be punished."

Dean looked at her with contempt. "What the hell do you mean by that? And what about Jason? Did he deserve to be gutted?"

Tiffany smiled sadly. She calmly raised her hand to Dean's face and stroked his cheek. As she opened her mouth to speak, something changed. Her eyes became unfocused and her body shuddered.

"Weniban," Bobby said, directly behind her. He had the little wooden Peyote box open. Dean took a wary step back, but Tiffany's arm lingered, her fingers cupping the air where his face had been. Her whole body was rigid.

Then she relaxed, exhaling loudly. Sam cautiously stepped in and took her by the shoulders. "Tiffany?"

She squinted and rubbed her eyelids. "It's me," she said, not sounding completely sure. Dean stayed back, looking spooked.

Bobby walked to the table and picked up Sam's notepad, glancing over it. "We might want to avoid saying any of these words aloud while she's around. Are we all clear?" They nodded. "I'll get to work on translating this, but you kids should get some rest. I've got a hunch tomorrow is going to be a long day."

* * *

Tiffany was as settled in as she would ever be. Bobby's guest room was small and quaint, with a twin size bed and a little window overlooking the yard. She had unpacked some of her toiletries and arranged them across the dresser, then changed into her favorite sleep shirt. Since she had a room to herself, she wasn't worried about modesty. Until she heard a knock on the door. She dove for the bed and pulled the blankets over her bare legs. "Yes?" she called.

Dean opened the door, giving her a strange look. "You all settled?"

She smiled, feeling very self-conscious. "Why?" she teased. "Did you come to tuck me in?" She longed to go back to the innocent flirting before everything had gotten so messy. He shut the door behind him and came over to sit beside her. For a brief moment, she wondered if he might stay. If he was here, she wouldn't be alone with her thoughts. It almost didn't matter if they slept together or just slept, together… but she pushed the idea out of her head. He was probably afraid of her now, and maybe he was right to be.

He gazed at her, his face a blend of emotions. He took her hand, and held it gently in his. "Sorry about this," he said.

"Sorry?" Then she felt something cold on her wrist, and heard a series of metallic clicks. She looked down. Handcuffs? "But…"

"Nothing personal." He leaned in, still holding her hand, forcing her back until he could fasten the other end of the cuffs to a rung of the headboard. "Can't have you running off to take another midnight stroll."

"Dean, come on!" she demanded. "Can't you just…"

"Just what?" He had started to get up, but stopped, turning back.

She debated with herself for a second before giving in. "Can't you stay? You don't have to lock me up if you're with me. Dean, please?" As soon as the words left her mouth, she remembered the last time she spoke them, by the river. _Dean, please._ It made her heart skip.

It had obviously struck a chord with him, too. His expression softened. He sat down again and ran his hand over her hair. He seemed to be searching for words. Instead he kissed her. She kissed him back desperately. It felt like he was saying goodbye, and it hurt. Then he pulled away, placing one last kiss on her forehead. "We can't," he finally said.

She kept it together until he left the room, shutting the door behind him. Then she curled to her side and let the tears flow.

* * *

_She was in the forest. Bounding over fallen logs, darting through streams, there was nothing to be afraid of here. Without seeing them, she sensed the two men looking for her. They were trying to lure her out. She could evade them easily enough. Except… the shorter one… what had he done? It pulled at her, demanded her attention. She would have to get closer to find out. First, she'd have to get the pretty one out of the way._

_She inched closer, patiently, silently. She stalked them while they hunted her. Then she ran in and lept at the taller man, her hooves making contact just below his ribs. He went down hard, the wind knocked out of him. Now she could focus. The second man met her gaze, and she could see everything. Sorrow and regret filled his eyes. He understood, and he accepted his punishment. So she began._

_Then she was pulled off and flung aside. The pretty one had recovered too quickly, and now he was trying to save his guilty friend. "Nagaashkaa!" she yelled. He turned, and she looked into him. He was honorable. Still, she could not let him take the other one away._

_She attacked. Their bodies landed in a tumble. She dove in to finish her work, but the tall one threw his own body in the way. Impatient, she attempted to shove him aside, but he was stubborn. She gave a swift kick, and her sharp hoof left a ragged tear in his back. The impact rolled him, and he lay gasping in pain. Now she could finish her duty. The guilty one watched her approach, resignation in his eyes. She hacked and tore at his unresisting body._

_A jolt of icy pain tore through her back. She glanced down to see something red and pointed jutting out from her chest. Another jolt and the point disappeared. She toppled over, landing on her back in the dry leaves. She could taste iron. The tall man stood over her, a blood-coated dagger in his hand._

_It felt like drowning, as her lungs filled with her own blood. She was not angry, and not afraid. He crouched down to finish her off, but she reached for him, pulling him down to speak in his ear. "Dibaakonan wiinetawaa," she told him, choking on the words. He frowned, not understanding. Blood pooled from her mouth, and she turned her eyes to the dagger. With a nod, he drove it, mercifully, into her heart._

Tiffany's limbs flailed, the metal cuff rattling against the headboard and digging into her wrist. Her throat felt thick, like she could still taste blood. She coughed wetly. She tried to take a deep breath but gagged instead. The room was mostly dark, when made it harder to differentiate between dream and reality.

A hand on her shoulder made her jump. It was Dean. "Shhh, it's alright, you're awake now." His voice was low and rough.

"You stabbed me," she said, her fingers touching the spot where his dagger had gone through.

His brows pushed together. "No, Tiff, you were dreaming."

She shook her head. "It wasn't just a dream. You killed her." She grabbed his shirt, tugging him down over her to whisper in his ear, like before. "She didn't even try to stop you."

He yanked backwards, realizing what she meant. Then he set his jaw. "Yeah, I did. I took out the monster that killed Jason. You were not there."

"No, but..." she faltered. It was starting to make less sense as the dream faded. "It was real."

"It was a nightmare. You're safe." He glared at her stubbornly. Who was he really trying to convince?

There was no point arguing when they both knew the truth. She let her head fall back on the pillow. Her heart rate was gradually returning to normal, but the room was stuffy. "I need some air. Can we go outside?"

Dean laughed. "Fat chance." He leaned over and opened the window a few inches. "That'll have to do."

She pouted. "Would you lie down with me?" She caught him glance anxiously at the door. "Just for a little while. I can't shake this stupid dream."

He sighed, relenting. She moved over and bunched the pillow up around her cuffed wrist as he crawled in beside her. He spent a few moments fidgeting around until he was curled up against her back. He smoothed her hair down where it tickled his face, then wrapped his arm around her middle.

"You could uncuff me," she murmured.

"Not likely. Go to sleep."

She pressed herself against the solid warmth of his body. Just having him this close made her feel more relaxed. That in itself didn't seem normal, but she was too exhausted to dwell on it. "You don't trust me," she said sleepily.

"I don't trust anyone," he said softly.

"That's fine," she said. "I shouldn't trust you either, but I do." Her tiredness was making her too honest. "I like you." She closed her eyes as sleep weighed her down.

He slid his hand over hers and interlocked their fingers. "I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair.


	14. Chapter 14

A faint metallic clattering pulled her from sleep. The room was bright with sunlight. Large, warm fingers encircled her wrist, jostling the handcuffs. Eyes half closed, she ran her free hand up his chest. She could feel his muscled frame beneath the soft fabric. "Morning," she sighed. He cleared his throat; wait, not Dean. Her eyes flashed opened. Sam was crouched over her, trying to unlock the cuffs from the headboard. "Oh, God, sorry," she said, covering her face. "Sorry."

"No problem," he said awkwardly. They both were careful not to look at one another. As soon as her wrist was free he moved off the bed quicker than was really necessary.

"Thank you," she said, sitting up and rolling her stiff shoulder. She noticed his hair was damp, he must have just showered.

"You're welcome." Was he blushing? He inched toward the door as he spoke. "Bobby's got breakfast downstairs if you're hungry."

"Sam, wait." He was distracted; she would just have to be upfront with him. "I had another dream."

That got his attention. "I thought so. We heard... Did you tell Dean?"

"What?" She panicked a little. "You heard what?"

He hesitated. "You were screaming in your sleep. We sent Dean to check on you."

Tiffany cringed. "Sorry," she said once again. At this rate, she might actually desensitize herself to feeling mortified. "Dean must have drawn the short straw."

Sam chuckled. "No, not at all." He slouched back against the wall, making himself comfortable. "How about you tell me instead?"

She had to smile. Even though she had woken them up with her stupid nightmare, here he was acting all sweet and concerned. She did her best to describe the dream for him. His expression got more and more troubled as she went on, trying to put into words what exactly the Oniijaani saw in Jason. After she finished, he didn't speak. "Well?" she asked.

He shifted uncomfortably. "Oh, just… it sounds awful. I'm sorry you had to see all that."

She gaped at him. "Are you serious? Come on, Sam. Doesn't it concern you that I have all these memories I shouldn't have?" There was a hollow pit of fear expanding in her chest. "What aren't you telling me?"

He looked at her for a long moment. "Get ready, and come downstairs. Bobby will catch you up."

* * *

Tiffany put on a cheerfully-patterned sundress. It was all wrong for the weather, but she needed something to lift her spirits. The guys were already gathered around the hill of books when she came down. Dean glanced up, and she expected him to toss a bit of sarcasm her way. Their eyes locked. She felt a jolt of sadness, like she was losing him. There was sorrow in his face too, along with something else. Regret? Longing? He looked away first.

She went to the kitchen, where Bobby joined her. "Morning," she forced a smile as she dished some kind of wannabe-omelette onto her plate. "You made this?"

"Can't promise it'll be any good." He gave her a sympathetic look and patted her on the arm.

She smiled genuinely now, despite herself. "It smells great. My dad could barely microwave a cup of noodles." Quit stalling, she scolded herself. "Bobby, did Sam tell you…" the words stuck in her throat.

"About your dream? Yep. It fits what we know about the Oniijaani. Not to speak ill of the dead, but maybe Jason had a few skeletons in his closet we don't know about." He shrugged.

"So, what now?"

Bobby looked away. "I got the ritual translated."

"What?" She nearly dropped her plate. "That's good, right?" In answer, he pulled out a chair, motioning for her to sit. Definitely not good.

He sat across from her. "The original wording of the ritual, I mean the version that didn't work, it was meant to drive out the spirit. When you changed the words… Tiffany, you took on the spirit for yourself. You agreed to do her dirty work."

She thought that over. "Alright, how do we get rid of it?"

Bobby shifted in his seat. "Far as I can tell, there are two ways. First is Dean's way: stab it in the heart. I'd like to avoid that."

Tiffany put her fork down. "Me too." Her appetite had vanished.

"Option two: we find somebody else to take on the spirit." She brightened at that, but he held up a finger. "It has to be a certain kind of person, and I'm not clear on the specifics. This thing almost killed Dean, but you seem healthy as a horse."

"So we take out an ad in the personals?"

Bobby laughed in surprise. "That's as good as anything we've come up with." He rubbed his beard. "Kid, I just don't know."

She frowned. "Wait, Bobby, are you saying I might be stuck like this?"

His gaze was steady. "We're not quitting. Got that? Either way, we're going to do everything we possibly can." He reached his hand out, but she pulled away.

"No! You're supposed to fix me, not slap a bandage over it and tell me to walk it off." She stood and moved away from him. Her thoughts were frantic. All the what-ifs were slamming around inside her head.

Sam came into the kitchen. "You told her?" he asked. Bobby nodded.

Tiffany whipped around. "Yes, I know, I'm a freak. Thank you. Now we can go to group therapy together." She saw him flinch, and instantly regretted her words.

"Hey, that's enough," Dean had joined them. "He's done nothing but help you, so cool it."

She looked around. Bobby watched her, cautiously. Dean looked almost ready to fight. Sam wouldn't meet her eyes. "I just need a minute," she said, and fled out the door.

* * *

Dean caught up before her foot left the porch. Neither said a word. He followed her through the field of junk cars, staying a few feet behind.

She thought back to their first day together, their flirtatious banter in the jeep. Now everything was complicated and stupid. There was still something between them; just hours ago he still cared enough to comfort her. Maybe it could be mended. She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry I was rude back there. I just don't know how to deal with all this." He nodded. "What am I supposed to do? They didn't exactly cover this in health class." No reaction. They were almost to the treeline, and she stopped walking. "You know Dean, I'm new here. I'm allowed to be freaked out by all this, but you..." He met her eyes, curious. "You're supposed to be the professional. Get it together, man." She saw a hint of a smile. "Talk to me, please. What are you thinking?"

He cocked his head to the side. "Well, right now I'm wondering what you really look like."

She was offended. "Dean! This is what I look like." She held her arms out wide. "This is me. You ought to know. You've seen me." Her heart sped up just mentioning it.

"Yeah, I remember." He let his gaze wander over her for a second, before pulling himself back in control. "But things are different. You are not the same girl who gave me a lift back in Oklahoma."

"No, I'm not that girl, not exactly. That girl... had never seen a demon. That girl wouldn't have volunteered for some freaky ritual. She would have run away the second she saw your bloody self in that motel bathroom. Maybe running was the smart thing to do." He flinched. "That girl would not have driven all the way to South Dakota just to put up with this bullcrap." She made sure her words had sunk in, then turned and stomped off into the woods.

Dean followed. He rolled his eyes when he saw her pull off her shoes and socks. "Remember what Bobby said."

"What, to keep my clothes on?" The softness of the earth under her feet made her tension ease. "Bobby's not here." She spotted a mossy patch of ground and sat, curling her legs up. A thought came to mind. "Something else about that girl, Dean, she had never been with you."

He studied her, intrigued. "What are you playing at?"

She lay back to recline on the cushion of moss. "That girl would never have let a guy go down on her in a public park." She bunched her skirt between her fingers, inching the hem upward as she spoke. "That girl would never, ever screw a guy she barely knows, somewhere they might get caught."

"Damn it, Tiff, you're supposed to be fighting this, not embracing it." He grabbed her by the arm and yanked her to her feet. "This isn't you. What you're feeling, it's not real. Tiff…" his words broke off as her hand brushed over the bulge in his jeans. "Oh, hell."

She leaned in. "Feels pretty damn real to me." She studied the way his jaw tightened as she rubbed her fingers over him.

He took her by the wrist and gently moved her hand away.

Tiffany would not let him see her cry. She fought back tears, and something else crept up inside her. To hell with mending broken threads, she could have him wrapped around her finger if she wanted to. She let this resolve fill her. "Dean," she said calmly. "I am not a monster. I don't want to hurt anyone, especially you. I just like being with you." She moved as close as she could without touching him. "I miss what we had. What we did. The things you did to me." His internal struggle played across his face. It was working. "I want that again, like before. I want you, Dean. Tell me you want me too?"

"God, yes." He was on her in an instant. He kissed her roughly, his tongue dipping into her mouth. She heard herself making frantic noises as his hands trailed over her breasts, her stomach, down her thighs, and up under her skirt. He hoisted her up easily, pinning her against the tree. Rough bark dug into her back as he grinded against her, his eyes glossy and mouth slightly open. She knew this time would be even wilder than the last, and she gasped in anticipation.

Then it all came apart. A blast of white fog blurred her vision. Dean was yanked away from her, and suddenly she was frightened and cold. "Keep him back," a voice called. The air was thick with smoke. She waved her arms blindly to fan it away, coughing. As the smell burned her throat, a sharp, prickling sensation began to spread over her feet. It quickly turned from discomfort to a stinging burn that crawled up her ankles and calves.

She collapsed, trembling in misery and fear. She cried out for Dean, but her voice sounded small and strangled. "Please! Anybody?" She could hear shouts and scuffling feet, but no one came. "Help me." She felt numb.

"Dear Lord," came Bobby's astounded voice.

The air was beginning to clear. Sam was holding back Dean by his arms; they both stared at her. Bobby stood a few feet away, tendrils of white smoke wafting from the bowl in his hands. She tried to stand up, but her feet jabbed like pins and needles, and she slumped back down. "Bobby, please." He didn't budge. In desperation, she turned to Dean. She locked eyes with him. "Dean?"

He began to struggle against Sam. "Tiffany, I'm here. It's alright."

"Get him out of here," said Bobby.

Dean managed to rip himself out of Sam's grasp, and he ran to her, falling to his knees. "You're so beautiful," he whispered, tenderly stroking her hair. "I'm yours, Tiff. I love you."

She was struck by the wrongness of it. Before she could respond, another puff of smoke hit them. Tiffany fell back and writhed on the dirt. They would take Dean away from her. They should. She didn't even try to hold back the feral sounds that came from her throat.

* * *

Author's Note: Sorry this took so long. This was a tough chapter for me, I spent a lot of time listening to Led Zeppelin and swearing at my laptop. This story is wrapping up very , VERY soon. Let me know what you think, I appreciate positive or negative feedback. Thank you for hanging in there with me this long.


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